Weak
by ellamalfoy8
Summary: Hermione winds up being critical to Voldemort's plans after she survives the final battle. DARK LV/HG/TR/DM
1. Shadows

**A/N: Ok, after reading The Light and Darkness Anthology by Lunalelle, I was inspired to write my own Hermione/Voldemort! I actually don't know if this is going to end up with that ship, seeing as I've only written the first section of this and since I'm absolutely bored, I'm typing it up now! But I wanted to write a dark angst fic. And I felt like doing a first person fic for a change. **

**Plus there's the fact that all three of my main stories are giving me problems. Magnetic Attraction is seriously annoying me (Hermione needs to get over Cedric, but I haven't found a way to do that without her looking like a slut), My Past, His Present, Your Future is strange (I can't write Remus without making it seem like he's flirting with Lily, which is not what I want), and Where White Meets Black is just boring (Draco's too stubborn. 'Nuff said.)**

**Anyway, don't flame me. I'm just trying something new with this, so _please_ don't yell at me for having them out of character. This is an experiment. Okay? I've already written at least half of this, so I'll probably update often.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything that you may recognize. It all belongs to J.K. Rowling.**

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**Weak**

"Weak," the shadows hissed at me as I curled up under the invisibility cloak. There were muffled screams from the other side of the stonewall, and I couldn't block them out. "Weak."

"I'm not strong like you, Harry," I whispered to myself, trying to prove that what I was doing was okay. "I just can't fight it any longer." But hiding was cowardly, I knew that. And yet I did it anyway. I was just a girl, just a teenager. I'd had enough of fighting. The darkness was surrounding me, as I knew the Death Eaters were coming. The dungeons wouldn't protect me for long.

_Weak_, my conscience observed. Ron was fighting still, as was Luna. But they were fighting a losing battle. Harry was dead, gone in a flash of green, blinding light. We didn't stand a chance. I wouldn't die a hero in a world where evil conquers over good. So why die anyway?

"Weak," I murmured to myself. I would die in the end. Maybe not today, but it was inevitable. They were looking for me; they had to brag about killing the complete set. They wouldn't get to, I was sure the darkness would kill me first.

But they came, in their black robes and silver masks. They couldn't see me as I was hidden under the cloak, with dirt trails across my skin and fragments of brick and blades of grass in my hair. Not quite so dignified, no longer so proud. Harry Potter's best friend… _weak_.

They passed through the potions classroom without a glance in my direction, not even noticing me. But the three Death Eaters were not alone; _He_ was with them, looking like death itself. He reeked of skill, and raw magical power. And the eyes, they could see right through me.

"Weak," I could have sworn he had hissed. I couldn't move, with fear acting like a dead weight. But I wasn't afraid; I was mesmerized. Voldemort sent his Death Eaters away with a wave of his bony hand. With a harsh, grating slam of the door, I was alone with the thing that had gained control of the world. From the outside of the wall that I was pressing my back against, the screams were dieing down. I was better off out there, perishing with my friends. But it was too late for that. He slowly approached me, silent as the night itself as his boots traveled across the floor. I watched his wand, extended before him, while he drew closer. I didn't take a breath as he reached out his spider like hand to find the corner of the cloak protecting me. Paralyzed in a tumult of fear and wonder, I merely blinked when his fingers caught an edge of the cloth and pulled it away from me. The thing showed no emotion as he took in my smeared head girl badge and slightly torn Gryffindor emblem.

I could see him thinking as he stared down at me, considering what he could do. I stared back, not defiant, just tired. I wouldn't become on of his men, but I didn't feel like arguing. There was no purpose with everything gone. What did we have with Harry dead? With out leader splayed across Hogwarts' grounds?

_Weak_, I thought to myself, gripping my wand between my blistered fingers. I couldn't hex him. I wouldn't hex him. He knew it too. Hermione Granger reduced to cowering in a corner of a Hogwarts' dungeon, with bleeding cuts on her legs and swollen blisters on her face. Was that really me?

In slight disbelief, I watched the darkest mind on the planet extend his free hand to me, palm up. He smirked at me, raising one eyebrow as if daring me to take it.

"Weak," Harry whispered in my ear. "Remember what Dumbledore said? Choosing between what is right and what is easy?" What was easy? What was right?

What was brave?

"Weak."

Did it matter? In the end I knew I would care. I had already caved hours ago when I learned that the Death Eaters were coming. And long ago I had lost my hope. Hogwarts was burning, the Weasleys were down to one final member, and every single last Slytherin had fought on Voldemort's side. Who was left to save me now? To rush to my rescue like the American cavalry in a World War II movie? He knew I would take his hand, for I only had two choices. Neither were right.

Neither were easy.

I laced my trembling, bloody, purple fingers into his cold white ones. And he smiled.


	2. Purpose

**A/N: Yay, I got reviews! -Smirk- This story is going to be really cool, believe me. Just so you know that this gets really unpredictable. I have absolutely nothing to say…**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

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**Chapter 2: Purpose**

I listened from the other side of the wall, my hand pressed against the cold stone and my eye fixed on the slim crack that ran down its length. The Riddle library was connected to Voldemort's personal study, which was more like a throne room than an office, so I could hear his meetings. He didn't seem to mind that I listened in from the opposite side of the wall, for I wasn't allowed into his meetings anyway. Even though he had let me stay in his library over night, don't ask me why, I couldn't grace his Death Eaters with my mudblood presence. So I surreptitiously pressed my cheek to the dusty surface and squinted where no one noticed me.

Except him, that was. He knew everything.

Lucius Malfoy was protesting my presence at their base, his silver mask gripped tightly in his hand. Blond hair peeked out from under his hood and I could see his mangled sneer even from under my heavily lidded eyes. Voldemort sneered back.

"But my lord, I don't understand! What can we gain from a mudblood? It's not like we could convert her to our side, Draco has always said she was a stubborn little know-it-all," he said persistently. Malfoy tapped his foot, clearly irritated. I loved little victories such as seeing him upset with something to do with me. I probably wouldn't get more than little victories for a while, so IO had to savor the exasperated look on his face.

"There is much to gain from Ms. Granger, Lucius. It is true that she would be reluctant to aid us in battle or torture, but those are not the only tasks I must be sure are done," Voldemort replied, his hands clasped behind his back as he stood on he edge of the slightly raised platform. From what I had seen on my overnight stay in his manor, he had a bit of an inferiority complex, and liked to always be taller than his death Eaters. This wasn't a problem with me; I was already smaller than him. Malfoy scowled impatiently.

"In what such tasks could _she_ be of use?" he snapped back, clenching his hand around his defining serpent-topped cane.

"Do you expect me to inform you of all my plans? Do you question my leadership?" Voldemort asked coldly, his eyes narrowed. Malfoy huffed.

"Of course not, my lord. I just wonder why Granger of all people was the person you chose to rescue yesterday. That little wench is everything we're against. A mudblood, the Gryffindor Princess no less! Could I be informed of your reasoning if it is not too much trouble?" Voldemort looked up calculatingly and took his time before answering so as to unnerve his second in command. His tactic worked, and Malfoy took a small gulp.

"I suppose I could clue you in Lucius. As long as you do not argue with me, I do know what I'm doing." He nodded feverishly, waiting for his master to continue. I smushed myself closer to the wall, pressing my palm against it. "Severus has informed me that Ms. Granger is quite the studious bookworm. As you well know, my personal library is overflowing with unread tombs that have been brought back after raids over the years. I intend to put the girl to work reading through them and reporting back to me anything of use." Malfoy frowned, his brow knitted into one pale line.

"But my lord, Granger is against us. Why would she study the dark arts and tell you of them? I could never imagine her researching Black Magic." I also wondered the same thing, confused.

"What other choice does she have? But I am sure she would enjoy this task, I could smell her curiosity upon her entrance of the library. She is eager to learn, Lucius, lap up all the information she can. It doesn't matter what the topic." I glared at the wall; I wasn't as simple as that? How dare he dissect me!

"Forgive me for doubting you, my lord. I'm sure Granger will bend to your will soon, she will be weak after time here." He punctuated this profound statement with a leering grin, making me shiver in revulsion. The other man seemed to be on the same track as me.

"Do not touch her, Lucius, and the same applies to your son. Although her bloodlines make her lower than us, she should be treated as a guest here. As far as I can see she came here willingly, not as a prisoner. Spread the word to the other Death Eaters." Malfoy scowled but nodded. "Anyway, I believe you are preparing for the raid on the ministry currently? Shouldn't you be off making preparations?" he asked, showing their meeting was over.

"Of course, I shall see you tomorrow morning. Goodnight, my lord." Voldemort nodded as Lucius left the room. When the door clicked shut I stepped away from the wall and returned to the desk in the middle of the library where I had been reading. Something was telling me that Voldemort wasn't telling Lucius the full story. But there wasn't much I could do.

_Weak_.

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Voldemort stayed true to his word. I was treated with respect, given a bedroom connected to the library, and fed hot meals by a houself twice a day. For dinner Voldemort himself delivered me steak or roasted salmon, in exchange for a report on what I had found that day. He wasn't nice per say, but he didn't touch me, or harm me in anyway as I had expected him to. In fact, he even let me keep my wand, something I had never imagined, and each night he asked me if there was anything I needed, more clothing or spare blankets.

I remained positively terrified of him, naturally. Constantly I wondered, _why is he being like this? Why isn't he yelling at me, torturing me, hexing me? Was it a false sense of security? What was I to him?_ But it became clear to me one night as I listened into one of his meetings. I was a trophy, a symbol to how much he'd won on a personal level. A willing guest from the other side!

The question that scared me more was why was I so willing? Honestly, why didn't I just walk out of his mansion and go straight to the ministry? Weakness? But the truth was that I had nowhere else to go. I could die a death that no one would notice, or continue to aid Voldemort. Because of my research people would die. And let's just say I did go to the ministry. What would that do? Nothing, because He ruled there as well. I still received the Daily Prophet, and judging by the sudden swing of opinion in his favor in editorials and columns, Voldemort ruled supreme. Was my research really affecting the world? No. It was busy work; He could find the information I was providing Him on his own. But then why was I still here? Why did He want to protect me? Why did he want to make sure I was healthy? I seemed to be so much more than a trophy. I could be one and still be abused by his death eaters. Was it because for some reason Voldemort cared for me, or did he have plans for me?

It was doubtful he cared about me; He didn't have feelings so I wasn't more than a position to him. But soon I began to see that the second option could be true. It started small at first.

He stared at me over slim, steepled fingers one night as I chewed on pasta. After a month of time under his scrutiny I was used to it, but I still shivered nonetheless. I fumbled my fork awkwardly, ignoring the little voice of Harry in the back of my head.

_Weak._

"Tell me, Miss Granger," he started, leaning onto the back legs of his chair. I avoided his red slanted eyes. "My servants, have they been treating you well?" He asked me this once a week it seemed, though I never told him about Lucius Malfoy's occasional visits to sneer at me and degrade my heritage. It was safe to guess that Voldemort already knew anyway. He knew everything.

"As fine as can be expected," I answered honestly, dropping my fork to pull at the sleeve of my dress. He raised his almost nonexistent eyebrow.

"As can be expected?" he repeated softly, as if not sure what I meant.

"Yes, well, to them I'm just the little mudblood," I mumbled dejectedly, expecting him to agree with his death eaters. But to my surprise, and surprisingly not my discomfort, he leaned over to cup my chin in his palm, forcing me to look up and meet his pale red eyes. With a stern tone he told me,

"_Never_ let anyone put your parentage to shame, Ms. Granger. As long as you know they're no better than you are they can't hurt you." Was he _joking_? Did Lord Voldemort just say that being a muggleborn wasn't a bad thing in so many words? He dropped my jaw and settled back into his chair.

"Would you hex me if I called you a hypocrite?" I asked hesitantly, though with a small smile. He shrugged elegantly before saying,

"My goal is to rid the earth of the impure, and that does not necessarily mean mudbloods." I bit back a scowl. Yeah, _that_ was a lot better. No longer startled into shyness, I snapped,

"So you're not against killing off complete pureblood families like the Weasleys because you consider them 'unpure?'" He arched his eyebrow again as if he were amused by my outburst. I regretted it immediately, Voldemort was not a person to insult, whether he protected you from death eaters or not. But I had no reason to be afraid. Instead he responded with yet another random comment, one that made my whole sullen, depressing, hypocritical existence brighten up just a bit.

"I believe that I did not kill off the entire Weasley clan. The youngest male is being held in a cell down in the dungeons, has been for a while." Ron! Of course Voldemort knew this was exactly the information I had been waiting for for a month, so he stood up with a small, victorious smirk that I didn't bother dissecting. As he neatly pushed in his chair he added, "I must be going; I need to take care of security. I'm afraid that the guards on the lower levels are a little lax." That man reminded me eerily of Dumbledore at times. Then he swept out of the room in a whirl of black cloak. That would not be the last of him I saw that night.

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**A/N: Next time she sees Ron, did I really need to tell you that? And Voldy is evil. Teaser?**

"_Do you know what one calls a friend who abandons you when you need them most, Ms. Granger?" When he was greeted by silence he added, "An enemy."_

**Laters.**

**Final Word Count: 1914 (Next chapter is friggin gigantic.) **


	3. Anxious

**A/N: Well, I told you this chapter would be huge. I love this chapter, it's fairly risqué for me, so don't diss and flame. It's cool, but strange in some senses. But anyway, I want to thank you all for your reviews, it keeps me going. And let me warn you that this story is really random, and the plot twist and mind twisting runs deep. But I love this story to death; it's so bizarre. **

**Disclaimer: Do you really think J. K. Rowling would write a story where Voldemort seduces Hermione? Really? She's not that insane.**

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**Chapter 3: Anxious**

As Voldemort had said, the security had been alarmingly lax, and not so much as one guard was at their proper post that evening as I stole down to the holding cells. It didn't occur to me that He had set this up on purpose till months later. Without much trouble I ventured down into the dungeons, my wand outstretched in front of me. To my surprise, very few of the cells were full, so I didn't feel guilty about visiting my friend.

"Ron?" I called quietly, my voice still echoing through the damp, dark hallway. "Are you there?" Each cell I passed I peered into, but I didn't see any flash of red. My long skirt swayed with a rustle during every step, unnervingly loud in the quiet. Had Voldemort lied? Was Ron not here? Was I really alone, with only Him for company? I sped up my pace, frantically sending wand light into each crevice of the hallway. Weakness was coming back as I panicked. No longer bothering to stay quiet, I yelled, "RON!" My cracked voice bounced off the walls, overwhelming me with despair as I waited.

"Hermione?" whispered a tiny voice from the farthest cell. That tiny flicker of happiness that still burned inside of me flashed back to life as I identified the answer and ran towards it. There he was, red hair down to his shoulders and lips caked with blood. My heart broke at the sight of my boyfriend. He wore no shirt, and his chest was crossed with scars and bruises. Ron looked disbelievingly at me in my dark green dress and green shrug, unmarked.

"Yes Ron, it's me! Oh thank god you're alive, I thought I was alone," I stammered as I knelt down to his level, meeting him eye to eye. His face was gaunt and emaciated, and I reached for my wand automatically. He gasped as he saw I still had it.

"What are _you_ doing _here_?" he asked, his voice hoarse. Ron shrunk away as I aimed my wand through the bars in hopes of healing him. Nonverbally I cleaned his bruises while answering casually,

"I live here." His brow furrowed in disbelief and he looked automatically to my left arm, which was covered by my sleeve.

"He-here? With the d-death eaters? Why? How?" He stammered pitifully, as I realized how bad that sounded. I gripped my hand around one of the bars to steady myself for the Weasley blow out that would follow. Not that I wouldn't deserve it, what I was doing bordered on treason. I didn't have a choice, I was weak.

"Yes, but I'm not one of them, I promise," I assured him fearfully, while lowering my eyes away. But I was, I was no better. I didn't have the mark but I did the work.

"_Here?_ Do they know?" He knows everything; I thought to myself, Voldemort knows everything. With a gasp Ron added, "Are you unhurt?" I nodded sheepishly, racked with guilt.

"Yes they know and I'm perfectly fine." Obviously this made absolutely no sense to him and he looked me over from head to toe, as if sure I was actually lying.

"I don't understand, how are you here in the first place?" I'm a weak coward. Ron was so confused; I almost pitied him, so innocent and unaware. He didn't know his girlfriend was a hypocrite. But mainly I felt sorry for myself. This wouldn't be easy, and I subconsciously fiddled with the button of my black knit shrug.

"Voldemort brought me here." His eyes filled up with obvious worry. I could tell he thought there was more going on than there actually was. "I've been working in his library," I added as an explanation.

"My god Hermione, does he hurt you or touch you in anyway?" Ron asked, his tone racked with fear. I shook my head no, as he gripped the bars separating us. "What has he done to you?" What could I tell him? That I was protected? Intellectually stimulated? Collected like a stamp in a stamp book? Ron would push me to escape anyway, he wouldn't understand.

"Nothing Ron, I'm healthy. Really." I sighed and moved my hand down to mess with the buckle of my sandals. "But what about you? Are they feeding you?" He swatted away my question.

"Don't change the subject! Have any death eaters done you _any_ harm?" Frustrated now, I glared at him before snapping,

"No! I'm safe! Voldemort's been protecting me, he's been good to me!" Alarmed now, Ron stuck a hand through the bars and grasped my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye. He didn't believe me, I could see the suspicion and mistrust in his eyes. "Really, Ron, I'm serious." While examining my eyes he mumbled,

"Your eyes aren't dilated, so you're not under imperious." I jerked out of his grasp and scooted backwards, scowling at him. His hands were warm. "Has he brain washed you then? You-know-who doesn't protect muggleborns."

"He does too! He wants to rid the earth of the _impure_, not necessarily muggleborns!" Ron's eyes grew wider in surprise and anger, though the latter was not at me but at the topic of our conversation. _Weak_.

"He's telling you what you want to hear! Hermione, that's what he does, he's always done this! Remember Ginny?" He pleadingly reached for my hand but I pulled it away. A little part of me agreed with him, but I wouldn't bring myself to admit he was right. Because that would be admitting I was weak. "Don't stop fighting! You're stronger than this, don't let him take you over, you're one of the trio! Don't give up and aid that power hungry monster!" My little last thread of denial and hope snapped as I yelled,

"I was never strong! It was always you and Harry fighting, I couldn't! Why else do you think I did all the dusty research in the library instead of going on missions for the order?" I stood up, fueled by a new adrenalin rush. "I'm weak Ron! I always have been!" Ron couldn't stand up for some reason, but he pushed himself up onto his knees in an attempt to gain my height.

"Yes you _are_ strong, Hermione! This is his fault, he's making you feel this way!" Face flushed and downright furious, I bellowed,

"Don't speak of my lord that way!" He gapped at me as I realized what I had said. My hands flew up to cover my mouth as I took a few frightened steps backwards. "No!" I stammered to myself helplessly. "No!" He wasn't my lord, he wasn't! I wasn't a traitor! Ron gulped and found his voice as I floundered, tears welling up in my eyes. Had I really sunk that far?

"Have you taken the mark?" he asked quietly, his voice stony, without feeling. It scared me, but even more so was the look of utmost contempt in his eyes. He thought I was a traitor. But I wasn't!

"No! I could never do that to you! To Harry!" My voice rose in pitch as I pleaded my innocence, my first tears leaking down to my cheeks. Desperately I pushed up my sleeve to show him my unmarked left arm.

"If you're not his death eater, then what are you? His slave?" I shook my head frantically, my throat clogging up.

"I'm his guest, I do research in his library!" He narrowed his eyes like I'd seen him do to Malfoy. Never in my life did I think I'd see him look at me with such revulsion.

"And do you spread your legs for him in the stacks each night, you little slug?" Horror from his unbarred words barbed my sides as I stumbled farther behind me until I hit the bars of a cell. "I shouldn't even ask, god knows you're probably screwing all the death eaters by now, how's Lucius Malfoy in the sac?" My last remaining friend glowered furiously at me, representing Harry, Ginny, Luna, Lupin, Sirius, Dumbledore, and my parents. Wouldn't they be so proud of me right now, cowering like a whipped dog against the wall? I wasn't weak, not now when I was protected, when I wore a flowing green sundress and my hair in ribbons. Not now when I was alone, alone with my fears and wants and self-hatred. Ron had made me feel bad about myself in the past, but not now. I might be a coward, I might be a traitor, but he couldn't call me a slut.

"Don't you _dare_ talk to me that way! I came down here to _help_ you!" I yelled through my tears. "I am _not_ a slut as you should well know!" He laughed at me, almost manically.

"I was waiting for you to tell me you were ready! I suppose there's no waiting for you now, you've already shagged You-know-who!" The darkness was closing in on me, the walls creeping towards me, cold sliding up the back of my legs. "I guess now I can call you a mudblood without feeling guilty!"

"You asshole!" He continued laughing like an insane person.

"Oh go fuck yourself Hermione. Leave me in peace to die, I don't want to be in the same room as a traitorous whore." I didn't need to be told twice, I ran away from him down the hallway, his laughter echoing in my mind. I blindly bumped into things, walls, as I fled, my eyes closed. The library door was open, so I pushed through it without a second glance. Absolutely furious, I tugged the silver ribbons out of my hair and grabbed handfuls of my notes off my desk and threw them across the room out of anger. Parchment rained down on me as I cried, my shoulders heaving. How dare he call me such vulgar names? Why would he ever think of me as someone who would do _that_ with _Voldemort_? Desperate for some release, I ran through the bookshelves, disorienting myself on purpose. If Harry had been there he would have prevented Ron from saying those things. If Harry were here I would be somewhere else, possibly sipping butter beer with Ron at the counter of the Three Broomsticks. I tripped on something and stumbled sideways against a bookshelf, triggering the fall of several tombs. The leather covers grazed against my skin as I landed on my butt, leaning my back against the bookshelves. Who was I now? Was I really a traitor? A slut? I didn't agree with dark magic, I was just researching it! But that was just as bad.

A warm hand was laid on my shoulder and I flinched away from it automatically, believing it to be Ron. Then I realized Ron was locked in a cell several floors below me and that only Voldemort and his death eaters had access to the library. Completely mortified and actually quite terrified, I slowly opened my eyes and from between my fingers peered out to see a tall man in his early twenties with dark hair and red eyes kneeled down in front of me, looking concerned. I shrieked in surprised, flattening my back against the spines behind me to put as much space between me and this stranger.

"Who are you?" I asked through my still steady tears. The man raised an eyebrow, more amused than arrogant.

"It's just me, Ms. Granger. I preformed that youth ritual you looked into for me." I cried even harder. I _was_ a bloody traitor; now Voldemort looked like Tom Riddle, a fresh graduate from Hogwarts again, and would last longer because of my 'innocent' research. It wasn't like I had planned for this to happen! All I had done was taken his hand when I was injured and scared! I'd just done what he'd told me! What other choice did I have?

'_I would have died rather than betray Lily and James,'_ Sirius had once told Peter, his face flushed with anger and disappointment. I should have died, just rejected his help and died. In fact, I shouldn't have left the battlefield to hide in the potions classroom in the first place. Why couldn't the darkness just take me? Just suphocate me so I didn't have to see Harry's desperate face, etched into shock for all eternity, so surprised that he had actually lost? So I didn't have to hear Ron's torments and confusion? So I didn't have to feel my parent's hugs, their arms around my shoulders? I wasn't even Hermione Granger anymore. I couldn't do this anymore.

"I can't work here any longer, sir," I spluttered timidly, shivering as he extended his no longer bony hand to thumb away my tears from under my eyelid. He chuckled, and I stopped my self-loathing to marvel at how young he sounded. I opened my eyes in surprise, and was struck by how attractive he looked. Harry had been right when he had said that the younger Tom Riddle was in no way the serpent like demon he was today, or had been. Ashamed at my trail of thought, I looked away.

"What did Weasley say to bring this around?" I hiccupped, but didn't answer. What was I supposed to say, that he accused me of sleeping with you? Obviously this behavior annoyed Voldemort, so he took matters into his own hands, and used Legimancy, playing back the past 20 minutes in my mind on fast forward. I didn't bother fighting him, just looked down so I didn't have to see his freakish eyes light up in understanding. "Do you know what one calls a friend who abandons you when you need them most, Ms. Granger?" When he was greeted by silence he added, "An enemy."

"Ron's not an enemy, he's just," I faltered as he continued wiping away the shiny trails down my face. It didn't bother me how close his face was to mine, or how his each breath spread across my face, it just surprised me. He seemed much more human as a twenty-something, deep-voiced man, than as an eighty-something, high-pitched madman. "Just…"

"Just an idiot who jumps to vulgar conclusions," he finished matter of factly for me. I nodded. "He hit you where it hurts on purpose, Ms. Granger. He called you a mudblood because he knew it would upset you."

_He's telling you what you want to hear! Hermione, that's what he does, he's always done this_! That voice in my head repeated. _What you want to hear!_

_And do you spread you legs for him in the stacks each night, you little slut?_ The voice added. _You little slut_. This triggered another memory of Malfoy from just before the attack, and no matter how hard I tried to push it out of my head, his drawl came back, aided by Voldemort's gentle caress.

_You're so desperate for approval that you must have put out from Weasel on the first date! Hell, you've probably slept with the whole Gryffindor house by now, that's how weak you are! Tell me Potter, is she better or worse that the Weaselette?_

"You're not weak, Ms. Granger," Voldemort whispered in my ear. His hand was no longer on my face, but on the side of my neck, hitting a pressure point. I sighed as I wondered when he had gotten so close. "Never think that you are." _What you want to hear._ Was Voldemort comforting me? _No, he's using you for something._ "And you're not a traitor, or a slut, or a slave, or a trophy." My breathing hitched as he blew lightly into my ear, making me relax into him, my cheek pressed to his. "You're independent, you no longer need Weasley or Potter. Malfoy doesn't scare you any more." _What you want to hear._ His other hand slid up to rest on my thigh, above my dress. _You little slut._ "Because you're not Hermione Granger anymore, you're new." He wasn't making sense as my eyes drifted shut again. I was just very aware that his –oh- his lips were lightly pressed against my neck, just below my ear. "Lucius Malfoy is doesn't intimidate you, nor does Draco. They can't insult you or degrade you." _Do you spread your legs for him in the stacks each night, you little slut?_

"I'm not a slut," I whispered to myself, causing him to laugh slightly against my neck. I wasn't even listening as he responded,

"Of course not, Ms. Granger." I didn't swat his hands away as he fingered the button holding my shrug on, remembering a conversation I'd had with Ron when we'd been dating.

'_Oh come on, Hermione, Parvati didn't push Seamus away and you know I love you more than he loves her!'_

'_I'm sorry, I'm just not ready; if you love me you won't rush me.'_

'_If you love me you'll trust me. Do you not trust me?'_

'_Of course I trust you-'_

'_Then why can't we do this? Don't be such a prude, you know you want to.'_

"And I'm not a prude," I assured myself as my shrug slid off my shoulders. Even Voldemort wasn't expecting this, and I could tell he tried not to laugh harder. I wasn't weak, I wasn't a slut, and I _wasn't_ a prude.

_This is his fault; he's making you feel this way!_

"Of course not Ms. Granger, what would make you feel that way?" he repeated, as he pulled back just enough for me to see his red eyes glittering at me with something I'd never seen in them before. It wasn't love, but it was similar: Lust. He leaned down and kissed me on the lips.

It didn't even feel wrong.

_Don't let him take you over, you're one of the trio!_ Not anymore, how could I be when I was kissing the man that had killed one of us and would probably arrange the death of the other? How could I be when Voldemort was leaning over me, his hand now sliding beneath my skirt? I wasn't Hermione Granger anymore. And I just didn't care. He once again pulled away to kiss me on my neck, then my collarbone. Without even realizing I was doing it, I moaned,

"Oh Tom!" He started and froze, but it was only for a second. Tom gave no comment as he resumed his trail of kisses downwards.

_Don't stop fighting!_ But I had. And I didn't fight him off as he artfully slid my spaghetti strap off my shoulder. There was no reason to. I wasn't weak, just tired. And I wasn't defiant, because I was enjoying it.

And he knew it. He pushed me slightly to the side so I lay on my back on the floor, with him on stop of me. Before he could pull my dress over my head I mumbled,

"Don't hurt me." It was an order, not a plea, and he understood it, responding,

"If Weasley's attitude was anything to go by, I admit this will hurt, but not for to long, I assure you." See, he _did_ know everything. He knew I was still a virgin. Tom –it was only fair to call him Tom when he was physically only a few years older than me, and kneeling between my legs- dipped downward for another kiss, his hand running up my side to find my zipper. Parvati and Lavender would be so proud of me if they could see me now. A completely handsome, nonetheless insane, older man was pulling my dress away.

He was much less intimidating at this age, and because of this I wasn't scared that I was lying under the Dark Lord while in my bra and underwear, and more anxious. Feeling it was only fair, I fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and he likewise didn't push me away. We were both desperate, him for emotional contact apparently, and me to prove I was in charge of my own life. So we both resorted to less than stellar measures. When I was too slow Tom helped me with his buttons and tugged the gray button down sleeves off his arms. They would all be disappointed, Harry, Ron, Ginny, my parents, Professor McGonagall. They all thought I behaved properly all the time, did my homework straight away and always made time to have tea with my grandmother. The joke was on them, I was the last one standing. Ron was locked in a dungeon, the other five buried in shallow graves.

Did that mean I was stronger or weaker than them? Did it really matter? Did I honestly care? I honestly cared about a lot of things, like where he had thrown my dress and would it be wrinkled in the morning. I honestly cared that Tom's hand was now unzipping his trousers. And for once I honestly didn't care what people thought. Because I really wasn't Hermione Granger anymore.

I needed a new name.

Abruptly I pushed Tom off me and sat up, startling him again. The back of his head hit the floor and he winced at the pain, rubbing it as he sat up beside me. I pushed my palms against the floor to scoot me around to face him, the hilarious image that he was with his shirt off and dark trousers half unzipped not registering in my mind.

"Can I get a new name?" I asked, my voice sounding strangely eager to my own ears. He glared half-heartedly at me for interrupting him, but I think he realized I was being completely serious. While trying to straighten up his ruffled hair, he answered,

"I don't see why not, I did." Immediately I began to think of possibilities, would I do an anagram or a persona or something? I didn't want my name to tell people I thought I was above them, but I didn't want something pathetic that said I could be used…

"Perhaps this could be discussed tomorrow?" Tom whispered in my ear. He was behind me now, his dark hair tickling my neck as he went down to kiss my already purple skin. Why was he so eager? Was he really _that_ lonely?

"Of course," I whispered back, forgetting all about alter egos. After all, I knew _I_ was lonely.

**0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0**

**A/N: -Fans herself- Well, I've never done that before. –Clears throat- _Any_way, I hope you all liked it. Feedback please? I want to know what you all thought. I was really nervous about this chapter, you can ask Perry if it's true, but since this is the first chapter I've done that borders on 'M', I wasn't sure what to do. So give me feedback. See how nervous I am? I'm repeating myself. Teaser?**

"_Did you actually think the Dark Lord would shag you because he cared about you? Life isn't a fairy tale anymore, Granger, you were the Gryffindor Princess, but your kingdom has fallen. You're just a pawn like the rest of us."_

**I'm sure you can all guess who that is. (Cough Granger cough.) And I told you this was long.**

**Final Word Count: 3967**


	4. Doomed

**A/N: I'm glad a few of you like this fic; I'm having so much fun writing it. But anyway, I hope that you all keep reviewing. I don't have much to say.**

**Oh, I remember. I know Draco kind of comes off as an ass in this chapter, but he redeems himself eventually. And the plot twists run deep in this chapter, so you've been officially warned. Don't flame me, I did tell you that this was purely an experiment. Ha ha. PLEASE DON'T FLAME ME! -Pleads on hands and knees-**

**Disclaimer: Don't own it. Never have, and never will.**

**0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0**

**Chapter 4: Doomed**

I couldn't concentrate. The words from the book I was reading swam before my eyes and nothing made sense. I hated the silence; I hated not knowing what was going on! He hadn't had any meetings in the throne room; he hadn't even been in it. I had fallen asleep fairly quickly last night and he'd been right next to me, but I'd woken up alone. And I still hadn't seen any human beings at all and something was very, very wrong.

This never happened. There was always someone to taunt me, or snarl at me. But nothing. Not a word in the crisp silence, and yet out of nowhere there was a different aura about the fortress. It was as if something good had happened, some success. But there were no recent raids to celebrate. Nothing extraordinary was in the paper. I turned the page, but didn't attempt to read. Was this because of Voldemort's new youth? What was the reason behind that anyway?

"Confused, Granger?" someone asked from across the room. Startled, I jerked my head up to see Draco Malfoy leaning against a bookcase, a few feet away from my desk. He held no threat, for he wasn't holding his wand. I hadn't seen him since the battle, when he was slightly charred and bedraggled. Now he was back to his combed hair and fancy wizarding robes. The only thing missing was the damned pimp cane and he would look exactly like his father, just with shorter hair. But his face was blank, strangely empty without his defining smirk. "I would be." My face curled into a sneer, but I made no move.

"Don't you have better things to do than to taunt old rivals, Malfoy?" I hissed, not in the mood to deal with his arrogance when I was sore and indeed confused. His lips curled upwards but he didn't smile.

"I'm not here to taunt, I'm here to inform," he responded simply. "May I sit down?" he added, gesturing to the chair before my desk. Knowing he posed no threat, I reluctantly nodded, and he sat down, drumming his fingers on its arms. I blinked at him as he took his time to speak. He was enjoying this, feeling above me. "So what have you been up to?" he asked me as he stretched his legs out in front of him.

"Just do your 'informing' and go, Malfoy," I snarled, my patience nonexistent ever since I had been yelled at by my boyfriend, sorry, ex-boyfriend. Malfoy's smirk finally made itself known, and he rolled his eyes.

"I'll 'inform' you whenever I feel like it." Well, it was good to see he hadn't changed.

"Look, I'm really tired so could you just say whatever you came to say and leave?" I said, my voice stressed. He snickered, unnerving me. I wasn't afraid; I wasn't weak. He couldn't scare me.

"I bet you are," he mumbled to myself, causing me to tense up, a little nervous. How much did he know? Voldemort –Tom- wouldn't tell people about us, would he? That was none of their business! "But I'll take pity on you. Tell me, Granger, what does every man need to ensure he has an empire that will continue?" I blinked at him, confused by his random question. "Seriously."

"I suppose a people who obey him," I started slowly, biting my lip. He waved for me to continue. "Wealth to fuel his power."

"But what about when he is gone, what does he need then?" Malfoy asked. I gulped as I got a sinking feeling in my gut, realizing where this was headed.

"Someone has to take over for him." It couldn't be, he wouldn't have!

"Now tell me why our Dark Lord could have possibly seduced you last night," he finished, the essence of smug. '_He's telling you what you want to hear_.' He had used me? To create an heir? We hadn't used protection, the thought hadn't even _occurred_ to me! Malfoy chuckled sinisterly as my eyes widened. "Did you actually think the Dark Lord would shag you because he cared about you?" he asked, obviously mocking me. Yes. Yes I had. Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Life isn't a fairy tale anymore, Granger. You were the Gryffindor Princess, but now your kingdom has fallen. You're just a pawn like the rest of us. Tell me, why would the Dark Lord return to his early twenties?" I didn't answer him, because I was still stinging. My world was gone. Ron was probably dead by now, Voldemort had used me and there was a high chance I was quite possibly pregnant. "Because it would make you more comfortable around him and he could bed you easier. Why do you think he rescued you from Hogwarts anyway?"

'_One day, Hermione, you'll go off to school,' my dad told me as he lifted me up and put me on his shoulders. I giggled, squealing as he tickled the pads of my bare feet. 'And you'll meet a charming prince.'_

'_You sound like Mother Goose!' I'd said childishly, tugging on a strand of his curly brown hair. He'd smiled up at me, taking my hands to ensure I wouldn't fall off him. The comforting sounds of the ice cream truck coming around the corner made me impatient and I urged him to walk faster._

'_Listen, my princess, I'm telling you something important!' he'd lectured with a smile. 'This prince will sweep you off your feet and you'll marry him and make Mummy and Daddy proud.'_

'_What if the prince doesn't like me?' I asked, frowning slightly._

'_He will, Hermione, he'll treat you right. And if he doesn't treat you like the princess that you are, then he's not worth your time.'_

"Look, Granger. I just thought I'd clue you in on your impending doom," Malfoy told me, reaching into his cloak pocket. "And to give you this." I teared up as he slid a rectangular box across my desk. "My mother says Muggles are always right when it comes to biology." The Clear Blue box sneered up at me like the blond who had given it to me. "I'll see you later, Mudblood."

And I cried as he left the room, the tip of his robes whipping out the door.

**0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0**

It was blue.

Like it'd be anything else, when Voldemort wanted something done, it got _done_. I half-heartedly chuckled as I dropped the stick into the trash. What the hell should I do now?

I was so fucked. I didn't want a _child_, much less the heir of the most feared man in the world! If I had this baby it would have more issues than Malfoy, it would be spoiled and yet deprived of love, seeing as they would kill me afterwards. And why on earth had he chosen me anyway? I was a muggleborn, no matter what he said otherwise.

I could kill myself. Mere feet away were rows upon rows of books about the Dark Arts, meaning suicide would be easy. I could just stab myself with my wand, or drown myself in the bathtub or… but that wouldn't be right. I couldn't have this child, but then again I couldn't kill it either. Don't get me wrong, I'm not against abortion, but when it's your own child it's just so much different. I would have this child and Merlin help anyone who would try and kill me afterwards. This child would have a terrible father, but the most loving mother in the world. And I wouldn't be alone.

What a selfish thing to say, I realized.

Someone knocked on my bedroom door and I quickly banished the trash in the waste bin. Straightening my robe, I called,

"Come in." I regretted it as soon as he walked it, when flashes of the previous night came back to me.

_His hands running up my spine, his hair slightly tickling my chin. I gasped as I felt the pain, but he kissed me to smother my scream._

He looked at me innocently as my hand clenched around my wand at my side. That bloody prick, how _dare_ he? He smiled faintly, but I ignored it, refusing to cave… again.

_But then it felt so good, and he kissed my neck –Ohrighttheregodyes- and nipped gently at my skin, though not hard enough to leave a mark_.

"Hello, Hermione," he cooed, his deep voice silky. I refused to shiver; I wasn't weak schoolgirl anymore! He smirked at me, "Sleep well?" I shivered; I couldn't help it. He knew I knew, he had to, and his eyes lowered to my stomach.

"How could you?" I hissed, revolted by my attraction to the monster in black before me. My voice wavered. He raised an eyebrow, as if he found me amusing. Without even realizing it, I pressed my empty hand across my stomach, trying to block out the patches of memory from last night away from my mind's eye. It was hard to do with him standing right there, leaning against my doorway.

_-Yesrighttherepleasemoreoooh-_

"How could I do what, Hermione?" he responded. "How could I give you an experience no Weasley could ever measure up to?" I averted my eyes, intimidated. Hesitantly, I said,

"I know about your little plan." He chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. He didn't seem surprised. He was never surprised. It was impossible.

"I knew it wouldn't take you very long; you're fairly brainy, like me." _'What you want to hear.'_

_-Pleasemorenowyes- His hands ran downwards as I arched my back in pleasure_.

"How could you do this to me?" I asked, my voice quivering. He smirked, flashing me his set of perfect white teeth in perfect rows like the perfect lines of mailboxes on a perfect suburb street, my street.

"My dear, precious, vulnerable, Hermione, you did this to yourself."

**0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0**

**A/N: Scared of me yet? I would be. I'm actually terrified of myself right now. Yeah, I wouldn't talk to me tomorrow at school, Perry. But anyway, Draco makes a comeback, as does Pansy, and things get really random. You've been warned. Again. Teaser?**

"_I'm not going to ruin him, Hermione," that silky voice murmured form the doorway._

**Review! Later.**

**Final Word Count: 1816**


	5. Firsts

**A/N: Yes, I totally agree. Hermione _is_ doomed. But it gets better, believe me. After this chapter, things start moving really quickly, and eventually I switch POVs. It's all good fun. So keep reading, keep reviewing, and keep making me blush. I was seriously nervous about this story; I thought everyone would think it was sick and twisted, and that I would get totally flamed. But I've already got 65 reviews for four chapters. That's pretty good in my opinion. So keep it up. **

**Once again, thanks to my awesome beta, cckeimig. So cool. I owe her all of my success on the site, really.**

**Summary: **_Voldemort rescues Hermione after the final battle, not knowing that he has some hidden plans. But after living in his fortress, being used, and becoming friends with the Malfoys, Hermione realizes he's a lot more human than she had always thought._

**Disclaimer: I may someday manage to seduce Christian Coulson, and get Tom Felton to attend our wedding ceremony, and name our first child Harry Potter Coulson, but I still will not own Harry Potter. Well, I would own the kid but… well, you know what I mean.**

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**Chapter 5: Firsts**

I smiled down at little Roderick Riddle, smoothing back his tiny wisps of black hair. At such a young age I couldn't tell whose facial features he had inherited, though I knew he had my warm brown eyes. He was the most adorable thing I had ever seen. I wrapped the blanket around him tighter, still exhausted from a painful nineteen-hour labor. But now this, just sitting in my bed holding him, made it so worth it. He cooed in his sleep, making me laugh softly. He was untainted by his father so far; Tom hadn't seen me at all since his final check-up on me a month ago.

Draco had taken over Tom's dinners with me, and of course he had been his regular old jackass self. But after a while he had become a constant in my life, reminding me of my school days when everything seemed so much less complicated. It made me feel slightly normal for once. Our regular banter continued and both of us came to a silent understanding not to discuss the war, or mention Harry or Ron. Of course, that left us with plenty of topics to argue about, and the fights continued for a while, until my morning sickness had started. For some reason my sickness was not restricted to mornings, and the first attack happened during our dinner. I had run out of the library, my eyes wide, into my private bathroom, leaving him confused and irritated. He followed me, but his annoyance had surprisingly turned to unexpected sympathy. He held my hair back and softly whispered comforts in my ear, and sat with me until my nausea had passed. Later on he had mumbled of mudblood filth, but I still was thankful that I was not going through this completely alone.

Likewise, his mother Narcissa came to meet me, and was also surprisingly kind. She helped me stay healthy during pregnancy, did my checkups, and helped me think of baby names. It was she who delivered little Roderick and it was Draco whose hand I squeezed as I went through contractions.

Tom's visits were rare, and he did nothing more than peek in and check that I hadn't impaled myself with a letter opener. No doubt he knew I would have hexed him into next month at the first chance, fueled by hormones.

Roderick stirred, releasing a tiny hand from the blankets. I marveled at his miniscule digits, and smiled as they wrapped around my index finger. This afterglow wouldn't last, I knew that, but I couldn't help but grin. If only Harry and Ron were here now to see him. If only Ron were his father, or Harry, or someone better, nicer! If only I could give him a normal, loving family.

"I'm not going to ruin him, Hermione," that silky voice murmured from the doorway. I closed my eyes, knowing it was him. The soft skids of his boots on the carpet and the small creak of my mattress made me aware that he had moved to sit on the foot of my bed. I sheltered my baby in the crook of my arm, letting my long hair curtain us from his eyes. He sighed, leaning back against the footboard. "Can I at least see my son?" Roderick squirmed again as I stroked the side of his face, ignoring Tom. "Hermione, this will get you nowhere, and you know it. At least tell me his name."

"Roderick Riddle," I said quietly, not looking up.

"Old German, means famous power, am I right?" He asked, accepting. I nodded. That had been the reason why I had chosen the name; I never wanted any child of mine to feel weak like I had. Plus there was the point that his father ruled all of Europe. "I suppose it would be pointless to ask why you chose that." Yes it would. "May I hold him?" He'd have to Imperious me. "Don't make me Imperious you." That was getting annoying. "Mione?"

"Don't call me that," I snapped, finally looking up. He wasn't smirking, he just looked tired.

"Sorry." Did he just apologize? Roderick was waking up, and I turned my attention back to the newborn, cooing softly as he opened his hazel eyes. It was a refreshing change to see hazel instead of gray and red. But it would be nicer to see Harry's fluorescent green, or Ron's deep soothing blue. "Please Hermione, let me hold him." Stunned by his pleading 'please,' I handed him the blanket-wrapped infant, placing him in his father's arms so that the baby's head rested against Tom's arm. Tom seemed much more human as he looked down in awe at his son, his eyes widening. Roderick wrapped his fingers around Tom's finger as he had done to me, and I heard Tom gasp. "He's beautiful."

"I won't let you ruin him," I told him, my voice firm. He didn't even look up, making funny faces at Roderick.

"I already told you I wasn't going to ruin him."

"Am I supposed to believe that?" He paused in amusing the boy to look up at me.

"No, you're supposed to trust me." He let his words hand in the air as I watched him curl one of Roderick's sparse strands of hair behind his ear.

"Yes, because you've given me so many reasons to trust you." We sat in silence as we both watched our son blink up at us, seeming fascinated by Tom's hand hovering above him. Already I knew he would be like us, eager to learn and eager to please. Without realizing it, we both began to smile slightly, both proud of the little being that we had brought into the world. Seeing I was getting distracted, I said, "He won't become the next Dark Lord, I won't allow it."

"Fine," Tom said simply. Not expecting this, I continued, leaning forward. My back still ached, and I was not in the mood to face a lying Dark Lord.

"And I want him to make his own decisions and chose his own friends." Tom nodded, waving to a dozy Roderick. "And I want for him to do what he wants and for you to accept that." Unnerved by his automatic agreement, I frowned, reaching out for Roderick's other hand. "I thought you would have a problem with that."

"As long as you know that's a two way street, same goes for you too, Hermione," he responded calmly. I shifted, knowing what he said was fair.

"I know." He smiled at me, looking genuinely grateful. It made me uncomfortable, and I reached out my arms to take Roderick back. Tom gently lowered him into my arms. "I don't want him to be involved in any of your… business until he's older, if at all."

"Okay,"

"And I want to tell him the truth about Harry," I finished quietly. Tom looked up, his eyes almost hurt.

"But I don't want him to hate me." He seemed almost insecure for a second, and he looked back down to the bundle in my arms as if it held his future. That's when I realized he was alone, too. He had no friends, no siblings, and had never had an actual family. And he just wanted Roderick to be his family.

"We'll provide him with the facts and let him draw his own conclusions," I said sincerely. "Deal?" I extended my right hand, shifting the bundle to my left arm. He looked at it doubtfully, before looking up at me, directly into my eyes, and I nodded slowly, trying to show I was being truthful. Then, slowly as if ready to pull back any minute, he extended his own and took my hand, his fingers warm and strong.

"Deal."

**0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0**

Roderick showed his first signs of magic at age two. I was eating dinner with Draco, chatting amiably about a new potion Severus Snape had created, with the toddler playing with a toy snitch. So far, the boy had been unsuccessful at capturing the plaything, and, unknown to Draco and I, was getting irritated.

"So he's created a real cure to lycanthropy?" I asked him, absolutely fascinated by the topic of conversation. He nodded, wrapping a few strands of spaghetti around his fork.

"Yes, he said it was a variation of Wolfsbane. It was something like adding billywig sting, which reacted against the Delilath petals and prevents transformation." Amazed by the mere idea of a cure, I ignored Roderick's frustrated tugs on my pant leg.

"Wouldn't billywig sting cause an explosion because of the Hippogriff talon?" Draco flinched at the mere idea of a hippogriff, but answered quickly.

"No, the explosion's prevented by the Venomous Tentactula leaves."

I shushed Roderick's whining before saying, "Snape's brilliant! He's still teaching at Hogwarts, right?" Hogwarts had been reopened and returned to its former glory. Lucius Malfoy was headmaster and now no Muggleborns were admitted, forcing Beauxbatons and Durmstrang to take them instead. Strangely enough, half-bloods were still allowed admittance, though I suspected Tom wouldn't have liked to turn against his own, as hypocritical as that was. Most of the staff had been replaced, though Snape had received his coveted DADA position, and Slughorn, traitorous letch that he was, was still teaching Potions. Roderick once again pulled the cuff of my jeans, but I waved his hand away. He sat back down, feeling put out, and pulled at a strand of his hair, a classic sign he was thinking.

"Yes, and he says that the students are still as thick-headed as ever." We laughed softly, reminiscing, when we were interrupted by a sharp bang from under my desk. Eyebrows raised, we both tilted our necks to peer under the desk. Roderick sat smirking, as the remains of the toy snitch floated down around him. He looked like his father at that moment, but we couldn't help but laugh at the ash on his rosy cheeks. He giggled, then yelled,

"Snitchy bad!" The boy extended his arms and I pulled him onto my lap, wrapping my arms securely around his waist. Draco waved to the little boy, who waved back before stealing a spaghetti strand off my plate.

"He's early," Draco observed, smiling proudly. I smoothed down the squirming boy's hair, while sending a blank look at my dining partner.

"Well, look who his father is."

The proud smile slipped off his face to be replaced by a frown. "Of course, that makes sense." He awkwardly shifted in his chair, watching as his figurative nephew blinked at him, licking his fingers. "He'll be powerful, Hermione; most magical children show signs around four, and he started talking early as well. I myself started magic at three and a half." I nodded, knowing this already.

"At least his father will be pleased."

And he was; Tom was ecstatic. Later on, when he came by to say good-night to Roderick and I told him about the boy's little explosion, he grinned shamelessly. I shamefully have to admit that I swooned, pretending we were a normal family. Roderick blinked sleepily at his father, as the man no doubt thought of all the dark magic his son would be skilled to do.

"Well, what did he do?" Tom asked, his voice betraying his excitement.

"He blew up his toy snitch out of frustration." He laughed, crouching down to peer through through the crib bars to smile at the drowsy toddler. With them both at the same level I could see how much the little boy was growing up to look like his father. It made me flinch. "He's really early, Tom. He shouldn't be cooped up like this." Tom stood up, his face once again blank. I hated his mood swings, they were too unpredictable. He crossed his arms, looking down at me as if he expected me to continue. So, almost afraid, I added, "I wish to take him to Diagon Alley, give him a change of scenery."

"You don't need to ask my permission to leave the fortress temporarily, Hermione," he responded, his voice soft.

"I knew that, but I felt it important to discuss it with you first." I felt small, ashamed that I needed to report to him what I was doing. He raised his eyebrow again. "You know, to see how much the public knows about Roderick and me. Who knew of his existence? I can't just leave, it wouldn't be safe."

"No one other than a few trusted Death Eaters and the Malfoys are aware that he exists," he drawled, looking down to pick at his nails as if the conversation was boring him. "And as far as you go, everyone guesses you were captured and killed after the final battle. You remain a mystery to the public."

"But that still means I could be recognized." He nodded.

"I would have to go with you," he added quietly. I blinked. Him? Lord Voldemort, ruler of the continent, not to mention currently devilishly handsome, accompany me to Diagon Alley? The idea was preposterous, it wouldn't do! Seeing I didn't agree, he added, "The streets are not safe for Muggleborns anymore, and if you were recognized, it could mean the end for you and Roderick both. I can't let that happen." These words rang true as I started to realize how different the world must be. "So, I would have to go with you, to protect you both." He looked down at the crib and saw his son had drifted off. I watched unseeing as he covered the toddler with a blanket.

"Well, wouldn't the sight of you striding through town create hysteria?" I whispered, knowing I would need the protection.

He laughed softly, standing back up. "Do you think that the general public knows what I look like, Hermione?" I bit my lip; he always made me feel stupid. I looked down. "Hey, don't look down," he said, as he cupped my chin, forcing my head back up. "You're not wrong to assume that they know what I look like, but I very rarely make public appearances these days. I make my servants do such things, and take precautions to not draw attention to myself when I do leave here." He lowered his hand, and I mourned the loss of heat. "We can leave tomorrow."

**0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0**

**A/N: So, obviously, next chapter will include their trip to Diagon Alley, an old face, and a huge plot twist. Next chapter is the official pause in the story. **

**Yeah, I'm making a revised summary from this point on, because instead of ending it next chapter, I'm going to completely alter the end of the story, and follow Roderick's life as well. It will make more sense next chapter. Teaser?**

"_I thought you would be tempted," he said softly, his voice dangerously low. "I told myself, she wouldn't be so foolish as to go, but obviously I was wrong."_

**Read and review please! It's getting good!**

**Final Word Count: 2698**


	6. Tempted

**A/N: Well, I was thrilled to see how much you all like the idea of Roderick. He really is so adorable, and just wait until he is older. He really does make a cute eleven-year-old. Believe me when I say that he is sooo cool when he gets old enough. But I should stop there.**

**Anyway, keep reviewing. 91 reviews so far! How cool is that? As I say each chapter, this fic is a little intimidating to me, since it really talks about adult issues, such as manipulation and everything. It's actually really easy for me to write, and it's so much fun to plan. But you'll get it later on, once I switch POVs soon.**

**Summary (Updated for chapter six):** _The final battle is over, Harry and Ron are dead, and Hermione has been living in Voldemort's fortress. Of course living with Voldemort has complications, such as getting seduced and impregnated. But that's only the start. Little Roderick Riddle is a little different to put it simply._

**Disclaimer: Don't own it. Well, I own the idea of Roderick, but nothing else.**

**------**

**Chapter Six: Tempted**

We flooed into Flourish and Blotts around noon, with Roderick on my hip and Tom standing stoic, his face blank. He looked almost comical, dressed in muggle clothes. I wasn't sure why he had decided to wear such clothing, but one thing was for sure: He looked really good. I looked away.

A small part of me liked to believe he was trying to make me feel more comfortable with him, but I knew that was only wishful thinking.

"I have business in Knockturn Alley, I'll be back in a half an hour," he said to me as he flicked soot off his collar. I looked back up to him, startled. Wasn't the point of him coming to protect me? Before I could protest, he swept off, his tall frame slinking out of the door.

"Well it looks like we're on our own, Rick," I said softly as I turned around, preparing to venture into the main part of the shop. He stuck his tongue out at me, giggling softly. He really was adorable. But my good feeling disappeared as I entered the cluttered main room of the store. It was _packed_ full of people. Lowering my head slightly, I quickly tried to find out which part of the shop was most empty. Ah, the wizarding history section, my old haunt. No one gave me a second glance as I scuttled past them, and I didn't stop walking until I was well into the empty shelves.

But I had walked myself straight into what I had been avoiding. No matter how ready I felt I was for Diagon Alley, I had been wrong. Harry's face stared down at me from the cover of a book, lifeless and cold, his mouth open. I stepped backwards against a shelf, startling poor Roderick, staring in horror at the flickering picture.

The Leaders of the Second War

Written by Rita Skeeter

There it was, all I had been avoiding. All of the whispers I had been ignoring. All the morals I had been smothering. Just with one picture it all came back.

'_We must choose between what is right and what is easy.'_

'_I really, truly, love you, Hermione Granger. I really do, no matter what happens today on that battle field.'_

'_He will, Hermione, he'll treat you right. And if he doesn't treat you like the princess that you are, then he's not worth your time.'_

'_Do you know what one calls a friend who abandons you when you need them most, Ms. Granger? An enemy.'_

_Weak._

"Mummy?" I blinked away tears as Roderick pulled on my sleeve. This was so _wrong_. I wasn't weak; I was strong! I wouldn't be manipulated like I had been the past three years! And Roderick would _never_ have his mind fucked with by Lord Voldemort, who _wasn't_ Tom. There _was_ no Tom; he was a figure of my imagination. It had _always_ been Voldemort. I remembered Ginny, I remembered Riddle's diary! This wasn't me!

I set Roderick down on his feet, looking away from the terrible books that told the stories of my fallen friends. He took my hand without comment, only stared around at the shelves in wonder. He'd grown up in a library and was used to books, but these were new. I couldn't look at them, and didn't want him to either.

I glanced toward the doors outside, seeing the people passing by on the other side of the glass. We had a half an hour, long enough to Apparate to America and cover our tracks. By the time he came looking for us we would be long gone. I took a step towards the door, but chilled instantly when a hand wrapped around my wrist, still loose but tight enough to stop me in my tracks. I slowly turned around to see Him standing there, his face blank. My eyes widened in fear. No one walked out on Lord Voldemort.

"I thought you would be tempted," he said softly, his voice dangerously low. Our son blinked up at us, confused. "I told myself, 'She wouldn't be so foolish as to go,' but obviously I was wrong." His grip on my wrist tightened painfully, and I winced, unable to reached for my wand, since Roderick held my other hand. "It looks so easy, doesn't it? To just slip into the crowd and disappear into the corners? But it's not that simple, _Hermione_." He twisted my name into sounding threatening and lustful, and stepped closer to me, his nose an inch away from mine. "Roderick is my son, and that is something no amount of memory charms and appearance transfiguration can change." I closed my eyes; unable to face his accusing (charmed) black eyes. "It's not safe out here for you." He leant closer my ear, his hair brushing my cheek. I shivered, unnerved. "You wouldn't make it a day on your own."

"Granger?" My eyes flew open as he stepped back, giving me a meaningful look before sweeping off yet again. "Granger, is that you?" Pansy Parkinson stood before me, her wispy black hair swinging across her still pug-like face. She smirked at me as I tried to block Roderick from her view. She still carried an air of elegance, sporting stylish wizarding robes that put my retro muggle long sleeve dress to shame. "It _is_ you, I could recognize that rat's nest anywhere! Oh this is priceless." She already had her wand drawn, and it would be useless for me to pull out my own. Draco's words echoed in my head.

'_It's a different world out there, Hermione. Killing muggleborns who aren't at least married to pure or half bloods was made legal by the ministry this morning.'_

"Oh, I can't believe you've been hiding all these years, I can't wait to tell the girls I got to kill _Granger_." Roderick peeked out from around my legs, probably scared by the threatening sound of her voice. Her eyes glinted as she recognized our similar eye color, and I could tell that this was _not_ good. "And you have a little brat!"

Where was he? He was supposed to be here to protect us, but _nooo_, he was off doing Merlin knows what and we were going to die here. Legally, I might add. I wouldn't cave again, and, with this thought in my mind, drew my wand. Her eyebrows rose. "What do you intend on doing, mudblood? Kill me? You'd go to Azkaban in an instant."

"Don't test me, Parkinson, I wouldn't hesitate," I snapped back, nudging Roderick back behind me. She snickered, her voice sounding brittle in my ears.

"I have no doubt you would, Granger, but keep in mind that the law would be on my side, killing mudbloods is completely legal."

"Then it's a problem Hermione's a half-blood by marriage," drawled a silky voice from behind me. I sighed in relief, lowering my wand. About bloody time! Roderick squirmed out of my grip and ran, arms up, to his father. Voldemort scooped him up and smiled at him, as the boy burrowed his head against his chest. Obviously I was not the only one to notice the similarities between the two of them, and she whistled softly, also seeing how cute he looked as well.

"I don't believe we've met, I'm Pansy. Pansy Parkinson," she cooed, extending her hand. He ignored it, his face blank. Man, that guy had guts. Then again, he was _Voldemort_…

"Tom Riddle," he drawled in return. She stared, almost leering, at his perfect face. I rolled my eyes. "And she's not Granger anymore." My head snapped up, though I tried to keep the shock off my face. He sent me a fake smile, but she fell for it, hook, line and sinker. "Miss Parkinson, if you were to injure my wife or my son, I'd personally make sure you received justice." She stuttered, before huffing and swinging her choppy hair over her shoulder, storming off. When she was safely out the door, he turned back to me, his eyes so dark that for a second he looked like a black and white comic. "I hate to say I told you so."

We went home without any further discussion. He kept holding Roderick, giving his son the most attention he had all week, which wasn't actually saying much. When we were back in the library, he lowered his son to the floor, scowling. "We'll go to the ministry tomorrow."

"Why?" I asked, watching as Roderick started up at his father longingly, his arms extended, only to be ignored. The toddler frowned and sat down, beginning to sulk.

"To file a marriage license. If Parkinson were to find out that you were in fact still single, she'd make it her pathetic mission to kill you once and for all." I sighed, sitting down at my desk. I was barely twenty-one, and already I had no control over my life.

"Why are you going through all this trouble to keep me safe?" I asked quietly. He sat down across from me, as his eyes slowly began to return to their normal color. "I mean, why didn't you just kill me after I had Roderick in the first place?" Voldemort looked shocked, his eyes narrowing. It was obvious that he hadn't expected this question.

"Why on earth would I do that?" he hissed, seeming disgusted. I shrugged, not really having the energy to do anything more.

"You got what you wanted, you got an heir. Why keep me around if I'm such a nuisance?" The question had always bothered me, and in the middle of the night when I was alone in bed I wondered what was behind his reasoning. Of course I was _glad_ I wasn't dead, but it didn't make sense to me.

"I am appalled that you think I would knowingly deprive my son of his mother!" I rolled my eyes, scoffing quietly.

"Is that so?"

"**Yes** that's so!" he snarled, standing up so quickly that he pushed my desk forward. I gulped as I looked up at him. He looked positively livid. "Hermione, I grew up in an orphanage, living my whole life wondering what my parents were like. I swore to myself that if on the slightest chance I ever had children, they would never feel the same way. Now I can't offer Roderick a proper family, I can't offer him parents who love each other, and I can't promise him a normal life, but I can at least make sure he has a mum and a dad." He turned away, beginning to pace back and forth in front of me.

"Well, you might want to work on that," I grumbled, rubbing at my eyes. He glared at me, before snapping,

"Work on what?" I took a deep breath, gathering my courage, before saying as calmly as I could,

"Roderick doesn't have a dad." He blinked at me, obviously not following. That was okay; I hadn't expected him to understand anyway. Not that this would be easy, I had dreaded this day. Who wanted to tell the father of your child that he was neglecting his son? Wait. Scratch that. Who wanted to tell _Voldemort_ that he was neglecting his son?

"Yes he does, he has me!" I shook my head, standing up to be even with his eye level.

"No, he has a father! Not a dad! A dad is someone who teaches his son how to fly in the front yard, someone who takes him to work at the office! All you do is step in for ten minutes a night, he never really sees you! You know, a few weeks ago he asked me if Draco could be his daddy." His jaw dropped, and I could see the hurt in his eyes, as Roderick crawled over to him again, wrapping his little arms around his father's leg. Tom looked so lost. "It's true, your own son doesn't know you!" He seemed heartbroken, and scooped the boy up quickly, hugging him closely as if I had told him that someone wanted to take Roderick away from him. "That isn't good, Tom. I hate to say it, but he needs you to be there for him. It comes down to this: do you honestly want to be a Dark Lord, or do you want a real family?"

It was in moments like these that he was a normal human in my eyes. Nervous, scared, and lonely. More flawed than ever before. He obviously had no idea what to do. It was his life's passion and purpose against the tiny remaining part of him that wished he could be loved. He looked down at Roderick, his face ashen, and to my disbelief I sat a tiny glimmer in the corner of his eye. He was on the verge of tears! Bloody hell! I just couldn't believe it. It seemed so unlikely that Lord Voldemort would be so undecided, actually _considering_ giving it up.

I felt awful, terrible for accusing him in the first place. Biting my lip, I slowly walked over to stand in front of him. He didn't look at me, but was unable to hide the tear that escaped, sliding down his cheek. I wiped it away with my thumb, causing him to flinch. A part of me really did wish that he would give this up for us, I don't know why. I had grown up with the idea of the perfect family, and having my husband wrap his arm around my shoulder and hold our son's hand. The perfect picture, and it still held its appeal. Knowing it was probably a terrible idea, but not really caring, I took things into my own hands and hugged him, sliding my arms around his waist. Roderick was sandwiched between us, but he giggled and settled in further.

We stayed that way for a brief minute, and for a second I had that picture. He leant his head against mine, and we both indulged in the temporary ability to be weak, finding support in each other. His breathing was warm and shallow across my ear, and I rested my head against his shoulder, suddenly not so afraid. Suddenly not so vulnerable. Whatever he did next, whether it was what I wanted or not, I knew he wouldn't hurt either of us, and it would be his final decision. That was reassuring.

He unfroze, gently nudging me backwards with his elbow, and handed me a yawning Roderick. I watched Tom expectantly, waiting for him to speak. Then he looked up, his deep red eyes seeming pronounced against his almost albino skin. The sadness in those eyes showed me what his decision was.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Granger, but I can't change who I am." I nodded, feeling myself tear up. "I suggest you go to New York City in America, you'll be much safer there."

"Goodbye sir," I said softly, my voice oddly formal. He sighed, and we both knew this was the end. I kissed him swiftly on the cheek, before turning around and leaving the library to pack up our rooms. I had my freedom.

But suddenly I didn't want it.

**------**

**A/N: Was that believable? It didn't seem believable to me… But it was fun to write. I wrote this a while ago actually, back in May I think. Yeah, I started sniffling during science class, and my poor lab partner thought I was insane. It seems I wrote most of my stuff during science class. Yeah, my teacher didn't like me very much. **

**Important, this is NOT THE END! Really. It gets interesting from now on, more so than before. Teaser?**

"_Luna? Luna Lovegood?"_

**Heh heh, told you so. Laters! And review please!**

**Final Word Count: 2828**


	7. Reunited

**A/N: I haven't even posted the next chapter yet, but I'm off to camp in a few days so I'm starting to type this now. I'm watching the fourth movie on DVD, oh look! Cedric just jumped out of the tree. –Giggles-**

**Anyway, I'm having so much fun with story, I'm writing about seven chapters ahead when I should be working on Magnetic Attraction or Where White Meets Black, but it can't be helped I suppose. This is much more fun. And Cedric is hot. Bwahahaha.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Ask me again and Tom shall Avada you. You've been warned.**

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**Chapter Seven: Reunite**

I looked around the apartment I had just rented, full of new furniture and packing plastic. Light streamed in everywhere, so different from the dark manor where I had lived the past three years of my life. It was the best place money could buy, or so the supposedly 'muggle' realtor had told me. Roderick pressed his face against the glass window overlooking Central Park, as I finished putting a few books in our small library.

My parents had died before the final battle during an anti-muggle attack, but had left me a considerable fortune in a muggle bank account for if things got bad. I'd cracked into it as soon as we had Apparated into Times Square, and within a week we had this beautiful brownstone and new furniture to fill it. I'd taken great pleasure in painting the walls all shades of gold and red, with an occasional blue or white. This was my home, _our_ home, and I intended on keeping it as such.

Things would no doubt be hard. For safety reasons, I was cutting both of us off from the wizarding world, and had already secured a job at a book store, the owner of which had said I could bring Roderick to work with me, but it would be difficult to keep it that way. As my son aged, he would trigger more accidental magic, no doubt quickly, and we would have to try harder to cover our tracks, but as I knew, it was totally worth it.

Surrounded by my old colors, muggle technology, and a new setting made it easier to overlap the whispers and dark shadows that still, and would forever, haunt me. There were new people here, nice neighbors, and blue skies. It was like starting a new life over. And we were. I was now Jane Matthews, a single mother whose husband had been killed by a drunk driver, and my son was still Roderick, of course with Matthews as a last name. I'd magicked up all the documents we could possibly need, before placing my wand in the bottom of my dresser, where it would remain.

The sharp trill of the doorbell rang just as Pride and Prejudice slid in between The Phantom Tollbooth and the end of the shelf, to be more permanently sorted later. I stood up and wiped away dust onto my dress, as Roderick followed me to the door, peering at it from behind my legs. I opened it slowly, partly scared that I would find a Death Eater or Pansy Parkinson, but instead found yet another person I had thought was long gone.

"Hello, my name is Stephanie and I heard you just moved into the building," a red head said in an airy voice as she extended a hand. I blinked profusely, recognizing the round features and blue eyes.

"Luna? Luna Lovegood?" She tilted her head to the side, trying to place me.

"No, that's not my- Hermione?" Her eyes widened as I nodded, pushing my dyed black, straightened hair out of my eyes. "Oh Merlin, we all thought you were dead!" She pulled me into a tight hug that I was beyond grateful for. "Why are you here?" As I stepped back, I took in her muggle jeans and polo sweater, all too normal for Luna.

"I just moved in a few days ago," I said quickly. "What do you mean by we?" She smiled, but waved me back into my apartment.

"Let's talk inside, in case someone's listening." I nodded, and let her in. She sighed wistfully at the red and gold color scheme, but frowned when she noticed a few of Roderick's toys that were lined up along the wall. "Do you have children?" I gulped, but nodded as I nudged him out from behind me. She beamed as she crouched down to this level. He waved sheepishly, as I smoothed out his black hair. "And what's _your_ name?"

"Wodawik," he responded proudly, his arms crossed against his chest.

"Roderick," I translated softly as she stood up, pleading to Merlin that she wouldn't ask the questions I had no answers for. But in true Luna fashion, she didn't, making me wonder if she already knew.

"There are a few of us here," she said, gesturing around the room. "Ernie Macmillan, Terry Boot, a few Ravenclaws from below my year, Denis Creevy, and Blaise Zabini. We all got out of the final battle when we could and came here together. We've all got new aliases and we avoid using magic, but we all have lived here fairly peacefully." I smiled at the idea of seeing my old friends again. "As you can see we've all taken steps to not be recognized," she pulled on a strand of her red hair, "But you two are a step ahead of us." Little did she know Roderick's hair was its natural color. "It's been hard to know we were probably the only survivors, but we're trying to carry the story of Harry, Ron, and you on so that at least some people know the truth about You-Know-Who." I shifted, slightly ashamed that she spoke of me in such an honorable manor when I was so different from what they remembered.

_Weak_.

"I'm so glad some one is left, I thought when Harry and Ron died that that would be the end of it," I confided as Roderick toddled off across the carpet. She blinked.

"Obviously we know that Harry's gone, but how did you know about Ron? Last we heard he was being kept prisoner by You-Know-Who." I gulped. Oops. Now I would have to get into the whole story, wouldn't I? Maybe not.

'_You should know that Weasley died yesterday, Hermione.'_

'_Really? How?'_

'_He went insane and stopped eating. It's been coming for a while.'_

'_Oh.'_

No theatrics, no tears, no doubt that I wouldn't go on without him. I sighed and shrugged, swallowing any feelings. Ron hadn't died a hero's death.

"I just assumed," I said softly. She nodded.

"Well, at least you will always have a part of Ron with you," she added wistfully, looking over my shoulder at Roderick. Bile rose in my throat, but I forced it back down, watching him pull a picture book into his lap. He couldn't read yet, but loved to pretend he could.

"Yes, I'll always have a part."

**0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0**

They were all thrilled. Ernie hugged me, saying how wonderful it was that I was still around. Blaise had seemed indifferent, but nevertheless shook my hand. Terry and Denis spouted praise of 'How could you have survived with a child on your own for three years?' and the few Ravenclaws Luna had mentioned were only seventeen and hadn't known me, but they were elated. They thought I could protect them. Yet I could barely protect myself.

And they loved Roderick. They cooed over his adorable face and took turns picking him up and taking him out for walks in Central Park. I was a little nervous when I saw he didn't appreciate their attention, since they treated him as if he were an infant as apposed to a two year old, but he never acted strangely. I started work and immediately got promoted by the older bookstore owner. I also was able to pull Roderick out of day care and have him be babysat by the three Ravenclaws. Everything drifted into a state of normalcy, but I still knew that Roderick should be with his real father, and it hurt every time someone quietly asked why I didn't need to redye his hair, or mentioned that he didn't look very much like Ron. But it would be my little secret.

I could see their faces if they found out, twisted in disgust and revulsion. _You little slut._ It kept me up at night, and occasionally I woke up hot and wet, my heart racing, as I tried to force out the flashbacks I was most ashamed of.

_-PleasemoreohyesohgodTom-_

Roderick turned three, and marked the day by turning everything inside his bedroom the color green. When I asked what had happened, he said he was feeling lonely and it had just happened. I ignored the possibility of him being in Slytherin, if he even went to Hogwarts at all. Meanwhile, news of Voldemort's activities in Europe made us all shiver. Anti muggleborn laws were passed without protest, but I noticed little loopholes that would protect my son and I, such as regulations about birthdays. No one else noticed.

So Tom was never far from my mind, because every time I looked at our son, I saw him. It became ever harder to forget him when I came home with Roderick one night to see a black wooden jewelry box sitting on our coffee table, that I had never seen before. I put him down on the sofa before sitting down in front of it. Then, I felt different. Just more confident, as if I knew nothing could harm me. Feeling safe, I opened the box fearlessly and was met with the most extraordinary sight. Inside the box, pinned to a pad of green velvet, was a golden locket hanging off a chain, with a small curved 'S' on its front. I gasped, knowing what it was automatically.

It was Salazar Slytherin's locket, the horcrux Harry couldn't find. Although the thought that this locket was the reason my friend could never defeat Him, I was fascinated by it, and as if in a trance, I pulled out the two pins to pick it up. It sparkled in the electric light, and I knew it would look simply magical if it were bathed in the light of a candle. I pushed the thought away. One last whisper of '_Weak'_ protested in my mind, but I ignored it and slid the necklace over my robes, letting the heavy locket fall above my ironically green sweater. The feeling was incredible, and I felt untouchable, adored even. A smile, no, a full blown grin, made its way across my face for what felt like the first time in years. A note fell out of the box and drifted to the floor. I picked it up and turned it over, thrilled to see the familiar handwriting that had left directions on my desk or 'I'm sorry I couldn't make it' apologies.

'_This is just so you can always remember that you're not a slut, a prude, or a weakling. Hopefully it will protect you in place of me, and you can pass it on to Roderick when he is at school. Now he'll always have a part of his true father.'_

There was no signature, no goodbye, and no clue as to how it had gotten here. But for some reason I didn't care. I couldn't be sad, or worried, because I knew things end up all right.

**0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0**

**A/N: This is not the end of the story, more like the end of the beginning. Next chapter we see Roderick's years at school, when things get interesting. Draco, Snape, and eventually Tom will come back and scare people. Heh heh.**

**Teaser?**

"_I once knew someone named Roderick, a talented young boy," Professor Malfoy responded as he sat back in his seat. "He and his mother disappeared a few years ago."_

**And I'll give you a second one as well.**

"_I never thought I'd see the day that I'd sort another Riddle," the hat said calmly._

**Later! And review!**

**Final Word Count: 2030**


	8. Names

**A/N: Would you look at that? It's a point of view switch! Yay! So, in honor of seeing what happens to be on young Roderick's mind, I have a big old chapter for you. Isn't that wonderful? **

**So, from this point on, the story is more like a sequel, but I didn't much feel like starting a whole new one. Because of this, there is (ta da!) a new summary. So without further drama…**

**Summary:** _Over eleven years after the end of the Great War, Hermione's son Roderick struggles to find his place at a very different Hogwarts. With Draco Malfoy as a Charms professor who seems to know a lot more about him than he does about himself, Snape as a Potions professor who hates him even though he's never met him before, and the distrusting ghost of Harry Potter watching him carefully, his first year proves to be difficult. But when he realizes his father isn't really Ron Weasley, and is perhaps in fact the Dark Lord, things take a turn in a very dark direction._

**And since I'm thinking of this as a sequel, there's a new name, though I'm not changing anything. It's Lost. You'll see why in this chapter.**

**Oh, I love how angsty this is ending up. We'll stop back in with Hermione in a couple chapters, but for now we follow around Roderick at school. Yes, I'm so excited. Not much to say…**

**And about the dress that I mention on Hermione in the beginning, I just couldn't get the image of her in a 50s swing dress out of my head when I was searching for a Halloween costume, so I found a place for it here. Check out the actual dress at **( http //www . daddyos . com/ retro/ j03 . Html

**Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter. In fact, if JK happened upon this fan fic and read it, she'd probably have me committed.**

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**Chapter 8: Names**

"Mom," I said hoarsely as my mother squeezed the living daylights out of me. "Get off, you're scaring me." She chuckled, with tears in her eyes as she let me go, wiping her face on her sleeve. She flattened my hair and smiled in a mix of pleasure and sadness. I couldn't help but notice how much she stood out in the crowd, with her dark hair and Muggle 50s style swing dress. She didn't wear wizarding robes anymore, and one who didn't know her would have thought she _was_ a Muggle, but I knew she was a more powerful witch than most. Of course she didn't do much magic these days

"I'm sorry Rick, I'm just sad that you're leaving. Don't do anything rash," she warned me, although she knew me well enough to know that she was wasting her time. I nodded. I knew the risks.

"Mom, I know! I also know not to challenge Professor Snape and to avoid Headmaster Malfoy. I already promised you that I would write every week, and I'm keeping the necklace where no one can see it." She shushed me, placing her warm finger over my lips, but she got jostled by the crowd and removed it.

"Just stay safe, and be who you want to be. Don't let yourself be manipulated, OK?" I nodded stiffly, riding out her 'Be who you want to be' lecture. She did this occasionally when she was feeling insecure. "Plus, do _not _break_ cover_. You could be recognized, but stick to your story anyway." I rolled my eyes, and then trilled our story in a high-pitched voice.

"My name is Roderick Matthews and I'm a half-blood from America. My mother is Jane Matthews, Muggleborn, and my father was Michael Matthews, who was one of the many who died during the war and a pureblood. I've been living in New York City, but came to Hogwarts because my mother wanted me to get a worthy education of Dark Magic." She nodded, self-consciously smoothing down her skirt. "Relax, Mom, I know." But I didn't know. She kept so many secrets from me that it wasn't even funny. Such as why on earth did she have Salazar Slytherin's locket if she were a Gryffindor Muggleborn? And why was black my natural hair color, if neither my mother nor my father, Ron Weasley, had such a trait? Though I never asked. "The train is about to leave."

"Of course, dear. I love you, Roderick. Go blow them away," she said softly, giving me a kiss on the forehead. Then she patted the small lump under my sweater where the locket rested.

"I love you, too. Good-bye, Mom." She smiled as I gave her a brief hug and walked away, rolling my trunk behind me. I'd never been without Mom or her friends before, so I relished in the feeling of independence. Kids of all ages were saying good-bye to their parents or greeting their friends all around me, as I burned with petty jealousy for a moment, before shrugging it off. I walked through the train slowly, peeking into each compartment for an empty one. I didn't want to be crushed in a room with strangers, who would most likely ask probing questions and talk about moronic subjects. I wanted solitude, or at least adult company. Only Mom and Blaise seemed to understand I appreciated actual intelligent discussion. There was one on the end that looked empty, but once I had fully entered it I saw there was a man reading the Daily Prophet, his shoulder-length blond hair sweeping across his face.

"Excuse me, sir, but may I sit here?" I asked politely, inserting the charm that I had mastered in elementary school. He looked up, startled and nodded, as he looked me over, as if trying to place me. I ignored his inspection and sat down across from him, pulling my cat's cage off my trunk. Cooing softly, I pulled my black cat Radley out of it, laying the majestic pet out across my lap. The man tilted his head as if remembering something while I leaned over to take my mom's battered old copy of Hogwarts: A History out of my book bag, stroking Radley's soft fur. The man's eyes widened. I resisted the urge to ask what he found so fascinating.

"That's a beautiful cat," he finally said, and I looked over the top of my book at him, my face blank. Just for the sake of experimentation, I tried to show my power in my eyes the way my mom's friend Harry had done in the pictures and intimidate this stranger. Predictably, he gulped. I smirked the way my mother had always told me not to.

"His name is Radley," I said quietly, pointing at the cat's red collar. "My mother suggested it, an irony from the novel To Kill A Mockingbird." Pleading to whoever could be listening that he'd read the book, I looked back down to the feline. He licked my palm as the man said,

"The Muggle classic?" I nodded, secretly smiling. About time, maybe he'd treat me as an equal?

"My mother works in a bookstore, I grew up on everything from the Wizard of Oz to Call of the Wild." He nodded, looking curious.

"Is your mother a Muggle, then?" I looked back up, instantly regretting what I had said. I chose my words carefully, before responding slowly,

"No, neither of my parents were, sir. But my mom has a habit of reading everything in sight." He 'hmmed' thoughtfully, closing his paper all of the way. I did the same with my book, careful to shield the stamp reading 'Property of Hermione Granger' inside the cover. "She passed it onto me." He smiled lightly, turning to look out the window at the wet city we were now leaving.

"I knew someone like that once," he said placidly. Extending his hand, he added, "Draco Malfoy, pleased to meet you." I stiffened, eyeing it warily. My mother had only mentioned the Malfoys briefly in her warnings about how careful I must be at Hogwarts. Lucius Malfoy was dangerous to have on your bedside, but Draco? On second thought Aunty Luna had mentioned him briefly, but mom had quieted her down quickly. That must have been years ago.

He looked at me, one eyebrow lifted, as I hesitantly met his hand with my own, though I shook his firmly. 'When you first meet people, you need to come across as strong,' my mom had said, 'If you don't, they may try to use you, so never give them reason to believe so.'

"Roderick Matthews," I said, my voice firm and clearly enunciated. He blinked, surprised, but didn't miss a beat.

"I once knew someone named Roderick. Talented young boy," he responded as he sat back in his seat. He added, as if trying to get me to admit something. "He and his mother both disappeared a few years ago, as if they'd just vanished." We kept eye contact as I wondered what it was that he wanted me to say.

"What a pity," I said coolly. He nodded. "If you'll excuse me, sir, but are you a teacher at Hogwarts?" He nodded again, gesturing to the briefcase next to him on his seat.

"I'm taking over Charms; my first year teaching actually." He seemed much more comfortable now that he knew who I was, and I tucked that little bit of information away. "Maybe we should stick together, Roderick, since we're both starting out." He smiled warmly, and I wondered if I had met him before. He just seemed familiar. I smiled back.

"Maybe we should." Professor Malfoy just looked at me for a minute, with an expression I'd only seen on my mother. Though in no way did I understand, I recognized it: pride. And suddenly it felt like something had clicked into place. I realized Professor Malfoy held answers. "So have you read The Phantom Tollbooth?" He started, as if he had forgotten I was there. "Sir?"

"I believe I did when I was younger," he said softly, tucking a strand of his long blond hair being his ear. It reminded me of something, a little flicker of memory that pulled at the corner of my eye, as if suppressed beneath the years of listening to Luna's spacey observations and Dennis' picture snapping there had been a flicker of blond hair. It made me nervous. I smothered it, gulping slightly. "My father was appalled, tried to burn it because it wasn't proper pureblood literature." He sighed, tapping his finger on his leg. "It took me years to realize that there was no such thing."

"As what, sir?" Would he be honest with me, or would he give me a polite frown and change the subject? 'Maybe when you're older, Rick,' Ernie always said. But Professor Malfoy looked serious, his eyes showing his understanding. I wasn't a carefree eleven-year-old. I was lost.

"As pureblood literature. I could get fired for saying this, but I once knew this amazing woman who I could talk to, relate to, but she was everything my father warned me against." I sat up straighter. He was talking to me. Professor Malfoy glanced out the window, seeming suddenly distant, regretful. "When I was in school she was in my year and I tortured her, only to realize later that she was what I had been craving for years. I suddenly knew blood didn't matter. But in this world people like her are persecuted." My eyes widened. This was what Luna, Denis, Ernie, Terry, Blaise, Debbie, Susan, and Michelle had always been protecting me from. _This_, the politics in England. "And then she vanished."

"Is she the woman you mentioned earlier, with the son who shared my name?" He nodded. "I'm sorry for being curious, sir, but in America there's no such fixation on parentage." He smiled weakly.

"You shouldn't apologize for being curious, Roderick, especially because you will soon learn that not knowing is dangerous at Hogwarts. It would be best for you not to let it slip that your mother isn't pureblooded, for here in England that could be the end of you. And come directly to me if anybody gives you trouble." I nodded gratefully, though I couldn't remember telling him I wasn't a pureblood. But it didn't matter.

We spent the rest of the trip arguing about Muggle literature, and I was pleased to find that he knew almost as much as Mom on the subject. I found myself smiling in his company, feeling as though something had clicked. I remembered him, with little flutters of something gold and my mother's quiet smiles. It didn't make sense, but he had been there at one point or another. It made me feel safe. The locket hummed against my skin, as if reminding me that it was there, but it was quite hard to forget.

I had asked my mother about the locket twice, the first when I was six and realized that she never took it off, and the second on the night of my eleventh birthday, a few months previous. Both occasions she had said the same thing, that it was a gift from my father and was very valuable. She also said we must keep it a family secret, because my father hadn't wanted anyone to know about it. For this reason she had waited until after my small birthday party to pass it on to me, since none of her friends seemed to know about it either.

However, she had never given an explanation of its obvious magic. When I had first put it on I had been flooded with sudden confidence and a feeling of affection, and over time I had gotten used to it. But at the same time I knew there was something more sinister to it, though I couldn't pinpoint a reason why. Perhaps it was because of the way I had sometimes found Mom glaring down at it, or other times stroking it like she often did to Radley. I hated not knowing the full story, but never badgered her. She had gone through a lot. They all had, in the war. But Mom had something darker, something more sinister.

But she wouldn't tell me _what!_

Mother's friends hadn't wanted me to go to Hogwarts for this reason. Blaise and Luna had tried to keep me distracted while Ernie and Terry ganged up on her, but I had overheard a lot of it.

'Hermione, he's so much like you! Any observant teacher, more specifically Professor Snape, could see the resemblance!' Ernie had argued, hovering over her, as Mother scowled, her jaw locked. Luna dealt the playing cards with a fake smile but I looked over her shoulder into the kitchen. Blaise cast a nervous glance through the doorway, before whispering it was my turn to bet.

'But he looks nothing like me, no one would make the connection!' She yelled back as Ernie and Terry shared a look, as if debating whether to hit her where it hurt. I fingered the edge of the Ace in my hand, wondering where this was heading. Terry looked resigned as he made his decision.

'And strangely enough, he looks nothing like Ron either. But we won't ask questions,' he said in a nasally voice. My mother's face contorted into a strangled look as she balled the locket in her fist, keeping its letter hidden. Terry regretted it and softened his tone, 'Mione, it's just a bad idea. Why would you want him to go there?'

'Because he has to,' she responded, her voice equally low. 'His father wanted him to.'

'Hermione, Gryffindor house doesn't even exist anymore. You told us yourself that Lucius Malfoy had gotten rid of it.' Ernie said. 'You would have to use fake names, fake documents, fake addresses. He wouldn't be safe.' My mother nodded. 'And we've kept him sheltered this long, but sending him to England would be eliminating all that effort. It's a whole other world over there. Why would you want him there anyway? You could send him to Salem Academy!' Mom bit her lip, and I could see the nineteen-year-old in her for a second, eyes lidded, hair tangled, no smile. But then her stern look came back, and I couldn't see the weakness.

'Because I don't want my son to be ignorant.' That had been her final say, and now here I was on the school train. But that wasn't the hard part. I was dreading the Sorting. Mom's friends had all said I'd end up in Ravenclaw, but Mom hadn't said what she thought. Later on when we were alone, she sat down next to me on my bed and said softly,'Listen to me, Roderick, ignore what they say, all of it. It doesn't matter what house you're sorted into tomorrow, I'll respect the hat's decision no matter where you end up. Do you understand?'

Not really, but I had nodded obediently. That's what she wanted to hear.

**0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0**

It was easier to understand why the Sorting was such a big deal as I waited in line for my name to be called. What made it harder was that everyone was _looking_ at me! Well, not _everyone_, per say, but most of the staff was staring directly at me. Professor Malfoy occasionally sent me reassuring looks in between whispering to the older and striking headmaster, who was smirking knowingly at me. The deputy Headmaster, Professor Snape, who was calling names to be sorted from a long scroll, didn't glance over once, but he was a rarity.

Megan Greengrass, a blond who had taken a liking to my American accent on the boat ride over, was fidgeting, cracking her knuckles. I scoffed, my hands clasped behind my back, and kept my eyes on the faded hat, steeling my face. I would not go into Hogwarts with a weak persona. I was afraid, nervous, and desperately wanted to owl Mom, but Merlin help me, no one would know. I had listened to my mother.

"Matthews, Roderick," Professor Snape called, causing Headmaster Malfoy and the fat man sitting on his other side to snicker. At last Professor Snape looked up at me, his dark eyes obviously registering something as I kept my face blank and walked confidently to the stool, with my shoulders back. He dropped the hat on my head, and it was so large that it dropped completely over my head, leaving me in pitch black. Nobody laughed. I waited.

'_I never thought I'd see the day that I'd sort another Riddle,'_ it said calmly, and I blinked. It seemed to whisper into my ear, and I knew that no one else could hear it.

_Excuse me? _I thought, wondering if it could hear me.

'_Yes I can hear you, Mr. Riddle. I can see everything inside your head, weren't you listening to my song?'_

_Pardon, but my name is Matthews, Roderick Matthews._ It chuckled sadly, as if I was a small child who could never understand.

'_I assure you that your name is not Matthews, nor is it Weasley, for that matter. Your name is Roderick Granger Riddle, dear boy.'_ I gasped, glaring up at it. _'It's true. Now where to put you?'_

_Ron Weasley was my father; don't tell me otherwise_, I snarled into the brim, annoyed that a mere hat thought it could tell me who I was!

'_Believe whatever Ms. Granger tells you, Mr. Riddle, it is not my job to tell you otherwise. My job is to sort you, and it's about time I did so_.' I glared into the inky black, but didn't protest further. _'I can see courage in you, boy, you have no shame in doing what you think is right. You would have made a wonderful Gryffindor, defending your mother is your first priority. But they tell me Godric's house is dead now. I don't understand these humans.'_ I closed my eyes now, listening closely. It seemed everyone had answers. _'But you are so much like your father. You want power, to know the answers they are keeping from you. You want to impress, to influence. Yes, you are so much like your father. I think I know where to put you. It's written in your very blood after all.'_

_But who was my father, then?_ I asked quickly. It sighed as if it were human.

'_Some other time, Mr. Riddle.'_ There was a pause, before it bellowed to the silent hall, "SLYTHERIN!"

The locket hummed contently as Professor Snape plucked the hat from my head, giving me an approving once over. I looked over to Professor Malfoy as I walked to the Slytherin table, sitting down next to Megan. He smiled weakly. I turned away, facing my plate. This wasn't good.

**0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0**

**A/N: Yeah, long wait, but the site's being awful, not letting me update and all. I'm trying to figure out how to work LJ, so we'll see what happens. So how'd you all like Roderick? He's way too mature for his age, I know, but I would think he would be, what with two names and sneaking around.**

**Teaser?**

"_I think I taught your parents, Mr. Matthews," Professor Slughorn said, giving me a pleasant look. I struggled not to show my sudden discomfort and surprise._

**And here's a second one, since the next one is fairly large as well.**

"_He's got to be bloody powerful, magic at two. I was there, I saw it!" Snape rolled his eyes as Malfoy moaned and put his head in his hands._

"_I know, I know, with the snitch and the ash. Merlin above, you sound like he is _your_ son!" Snape grumbled, nursing his drink._

**Dun dun dun. Poor Roderick has no idea what he's walking into, does he? Ah well, he'll figure it all out eventually. And after that chapter and the one after it we'll go back to Hermione for a small chapter, before going back to Roderick for an action-packed chapter. And then back to Hermione for more drama. It's all good, right? Seriously, it's all BAM action from now on. Tee hee, this is my favorite fan fic. **

**Review!**

**Final Word Count: 3717**


	9. To Roderick Riddle

**A/N: Well, I've got nothing to say other than school is insane. Like, seriously insane. But seeing as I've caught a sudden stomach flu, I've had time to work on the next chapter. So I'll just start. Oh, and thanks for all of the reviews. I love checking my email to find twelve thousand reviews, tee hee.**

**And as always, many thanks to my wonderful beta, Christina!**

**Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter. In fact, if JK happened upon this fan fic and read it, she'd probably have me committed.**

**0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0**

**Chapter Nine: To Roderick Riddle**

_Dear Mom,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I know you're worrying about me right now, but you really shouldn't. Nobody has bothered me, and I'm perfectly safe. It's only about ten o'clock, but I already like it here at Hogwarts. My dorm is a little dark, but I still like it._

_The sorting was really interesting. The hat wanted to put me in Gryffindor, but it said I was too much like Father. It put me into Slytherin, so I doubt I'll have to worry about Professor Snape. But I'll still be careful. And I've got a friend in Slytherin already, Megan Greengrass. She's nice, Mom, I think you'd like her. Sharp, you know? If not annoyingly perky_

_Anyway, I've also met one of my professors; we shared a compartment on the train. His name is Professor Draco Malfoy, and he teaches Charms. I know you told me to stay away from Headmaster Malfoy, but Professor Malfoy seems very nice. We talked about Muggle literature on the train ride over, it was a lot of fun and quite a relief to find I'm not the only person to have read The Phantom Tollbooth! He said he once knew a boy named Roderick, but his mother disappeared years ago. He seemed really upset. But what was even more interesting was what he said about blood and its role in England. I'm sure you already know about this whole business about purebloods and Muggleborns, so I won't go into detail, but he told me that if anyone gave me a hard time about being impure, that I should go straight to him. See, I'm protected._

_Write back soon, and tell me about what's going on at the shop! And make sure you tell Brad I'm in his house! He'll be pleased, I'm sure._

_Love,_

_Roderick_

**0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0**

We had Potions first the next morning. Megan and I sat in the front row next to a cauldron filled with an off-white potion that I recognized immediately. It was a simple calming draught, one my mother used like it was going out of style. I laid out a fresh sheet of parchment, and my quill and inkpot across the desk, only half-listening to Megan talk about some Quidditch team. I had no patience for sports, preferring to read. Instead of paying attention to her chatter, I skimmed the chapter on today's lesson in my textbook, reading up on the Calming Draught. I was still reading when Professor Slughorn entered the classroom, munching on crystallized pineapple. Megan nudged my leg with her foot and I looked up to find him tending to the potion in front of us, sending me curious glances as I closed the book. It didn't bother me, and he cleared his throat to gain the class's attention.

"Hello everyone, my name is Professor Slughorn, Potions Master." He paused to smirk, as if expecting applause. We stared blankly at him, and he continued, unbothered. "I'd like to welcome you to First Year Potions. This year I hope to cover most basic potions, including the few scattered throughout the room. Can anyone tell me what this one is?" He gestured to the one resting in front of me, and I held my hand up, completely relaxed. School had always been my territory, and there was no reason to believe that Hogwarts would be any different. Professor Slughorn smiled in recognition, nodding to me. "Yes?"

"The Calming Draught, sir." He looked disappointed when I didn't offer further information, even though I knew much more. I didn't want the reputation of Know-It-All.

"Mr.… Matthews, is it?" I nodded, watching him closely. He seemed pleased once again. "Well, Mr. Matthews, would you tell us the purpose of the Calming Draught?"

I was being judged, it was easy to see. Not disturbed at all, I flicked back my hair and kept eye contact, smirking as he waited for me to answer. This was kind of fun. "Of course, sir. The Calming Draught is a basic potion commonly used in hospitals. Obviously, it calms people down, smoothing nerves. It grows popular around finals, and acts as a stimulant in portions of the brain, as well as helping lower blood pressure and ease breathing." And obviously, I had pleased him; he was smiling and looked like he was scheming. Out of cheek, I added to test his boundaries, "Is that correct, Professor?"

"Yes it is." But still he didn't look away. "I think I taught your parents, Mr. Matthews." Struggling not to show my sudden discomfort and surprise, I wondered which of my parents he had recognized. It wasn't like I had inherited any of my father's facial features, judging by the pictures I'd seen of him during childhood, and I had only gotten my mother's eyes. Did I just behave like them?

"That's impossible, sir, both my parents went to the Golden Academy in San Francisco," I responded smoothly, reciting our alias. He blinked, not expecting a blatant, however well rehearsed, lie.

"I'm not familiar with the surname Matthews, what were your parents' full names?" I really wanted to roll my eyes at his outright approach. Fine, I'd play.

"Jane and Michael Matthews, sir. My father died in the Great War and my mother renounced the wizarding world out of anger." Keep it simple, keep it vague. '_Stay mysterious and private to a degree_,' echoed in my head, as my face remained blank. '_Don't give anything away and don't let anyone wheedle information out of you_.'

"But why did you select Hogwarts above the school your parents attended?" he asked, hoping to trick me.

My voice remained steady as I responded crisply, "My mother had her reasons." He seemed to realize that I wasn't going to expound further, and resumed his lesson, his tone cool, while I seethed about his nosiness. Talk about a lack of subtleness. It seemed everyone knew something I didn't. Even though I already knew every answer, I didn't put my hand up again.

After class I bid Megan a hurried goodbye and rushed to the Charms classroom to get there early, wishing to talk to Professor Malfoy. He was going over lesson plans at his desk in the front of the classroom, his long blond hair pulled back into a loose ponytail with a black leather cord. I knocked on the doorframe politely, and he looked up, startled to see me.

"Good morning, Professor," I said quietly. "I was wondering if I could talk to you, if it's not too much trouble." He nodded, waving me in with a small smile.

"Any time, Roderick, and congratulations on getting into Slytherin. My own house, actually." I sat down at a bench across from his desk and set my school bag down by my feet, grateful that there was someone in the school who would welcome me, without seeking something in return. "How was your first class?"

"Annoying," I said, my voice brittle. "Professor Slughorn insists that he taught my parents."

He nodded wisely, dipping his quill into the inkwell beside his elbow. Without looking up, he asked, "Did he then?" I really wanted to tell him, to answer him, to beg him to tell me what they hadn't. _'Plus, do not break cover. You could be recognized, but stick to your story anyway._' I couldn't ignore my mother's worried face, only thirty years old but already beyond her years. I feebly answered,

"No, Professor. They went to school in America." He said nothing, only '_hmmed'_ under his breath. "He wouldn't drop it, though, and asked who they were." I sighed, looking down at the desk. "He seemed disappointed."

"The thing about Professor Slughorn," he said as he crossed a few bullet points off his list. "Is that he likes having influence. He has a club within the older years full of talented students." Professor Malfoy glanced up at me, before looking back down. "He sets them up for jobs, so that they are in a sort of debt to him, and he lives off the fame that they produce." I scowled, now vaguely remembering my mother mentioning this to me briefly.

"And he wanted to know my background in case he wanted to recruit me later on?" He hesitated, before nodding. "He didn't believe me anyway."

"You'll soon see that at Hogwarts, particularly in Slytherin, no one's used to honesty." He looked up at me, his gray eyes regretful. I wasn't sure why, but the gray was so blank, so void, that I wondered if they had ever held any spark, any life. "Just guard your secrets carefully, Roderick. But know when it's time to tell the truth."

**0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0**

Professor Snape swept into the classroom at exactly two o'clock, his robes billowing dramatically as he spun around to face the class at the head of the room. Megan flinched as his eyes landed on our table in the front. They paused on me, before continuing down the row.

"Before I introduce you to the Dark Arts, I wish to issue a warning," he said, his deep voice fascinating the girl next to me, as he paused for added dramatic effect. "In this class I do not care about last names, blood lines, or wealth. You shall be judged only on talent and your hunger to learn. As first years, you shall not be doing any dangerous tasks, but if anyone gets hurt, the student who caused it will be punished." He let his words sink in as I wondered just what we would be studying in this class. Then, so fast that I didn't expect it, he fired, "Matthews, what is the incantation of the Patronus Charm?" Without missing a beat, I said clearly,

"Expecto Patronum, sir." He blinked as I wondered why everyone kept calling on me. Megan leaned closer to me in her seat, completely terrified.

"Name the three Unforgivable Curses."

Not flinching away from his strong stare, I said, "Avada Kedavra, Cruciatus, and Imperius."

"Who invented Wolfsbane Variation Three?"

Smirking slightly now, I responded, "You did, sir." Everyone was watching me now, and I loved showing off for once. Being good at something was always such a wonderful ego boost.

"How long did the Final Battle of the Great War last?"

"Two days, nine hours, fifty-four minutes, and three seconds, depending on when you consider it ended."

"What happened to the Golden Gryffindor Trio?" I froze. He knew as well! Snape lifted a lazy eyebrow, before mockingly asking, "You don't know, Mr. Matthews? But you were doing so incredibly well!"

The already almost nonexistent color in my face drained slowly away until I was sure my skin matched my uniform shirt, and I gulped, my throat suddenly dry, before saying in a weak voice, "Harry Potter was murdered in the Final Battle, Ron W-Weasley was captured, tortured, and killed, and Her-Hermione Granger was never f-found." The locket tingled beneath my vest as he looked down at me. I didn't notice Megan gripping my wrist tightly under the desk.

"Twenty points to Slytherin," he said in a dangerously soft voice, as the locket worked its magic, returning the flow of my self-confidence. "Now open your textbooks to the introduction."

**0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0**

I couldn't sleep. The cold of the dungeons was so unlike my warm red and gold bedroom at home, and I really wished I were back there with Mom, reading the newspaper in front of the fireplace. Austin Flint, Edgar Tiblake, and Randle Montague were all sleeping, their muffled snores filling the first year boys dorm, but it was impossible for me to move and lay down on the silver bed sheets. I missed the locket, but I couldn't sleep with it on, for fear someone would see it, and instead it was in the black wooden box it had come in on my bedside table.

It was during times like these that I wished my father were still alive. One locket wasn't enough, and I wished I had someone to snicker with me when Mom was obsessive about cleaning, or to calm me down when I occasionally lost my temper. But most of all would be right now, to be able to owl him and ask him for advice.

I wasn't going to fall asleep, that much was obvious, so I slid off my bed and found my shoes, before double-checking my roommates were asleep and opening the jewelry box. The locket twinkled innocently at me, as if asking me 'What do you think you are doing?' I looped a finger under the chain, and slowly raised it from its velvet confines. It set back into the hollow of my throat, and I felt the protective warmth spread over me. Feeling devious, I tiptoed to the foot of my bed and quietly unclipped the three clamps holding the lid of my trunk shut. This was my second most prized possession, and its existence was actually not a mystery. Harry Potter's old invisibility cloak felt cool under my fingers, holding the promise of adventure.

My mother said she had rescued it during the final battle, and that for years she had disappeared under it with him and Ron. She had warned me to use it only during an emergency, but what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. I pulled it over my head and hugged it close to me, not bothering to consider its lingering smoky scent. The freedom that it granted me was extreme, but there was only one place I wanted to go.

I needed red and gold again. Silver and green was all fine and dandy, but I needed something familiar, something to latch onto. Maybe I could even find my mother's old school stuff she said she had left behind by accident. It was the closest I could get to home, so I would find it. What was the worst that could possibly happen?

The Slytherin common room was empty, and I stole through it to the hallway, not making a sound. She had always said that I was naturally stealthy, and the cloak was more of a precaution than anything else. And I was in a school I didn't know, so getting lost in it would be the end for me. However, my feet seemed to know the way, and I could follow the basic directions I remembered Dennis giving me, using some of the secret passageways he had recommended. I didn't run into anyone. But I was to be disappointed.

The portrait they had told me to look for of a fat woman in a pink gown was gone. The whole portrait hole was boarded up, long planks of wood without a single crack in between, and altogether not very inconspicuous. I scowled, wondering if I could take the boards down without anyone knowing. But it wasn't worth it; I wasn't supposed to attract any extra attention. With a final glare at the wall, I trudged away, heading in the direction of the library. But as I passed a slightly ajar door, I heard a loud voice, frustrated and icy. It was Professor Malfoy's voice, easily recognizable.

"-Gone for nine years, and now they're _back_? I don't know what she was thinking, it's so _obvious_ it's him!" I stopped and flattened myself against the wall, intrigued by his subject. Not that it took much to draw my interest. "I don't think he even _knows_ what the problem is. You should have seen him earlier! What on earth did she tell him?"

"I assume living in secrecy with her little group of survivors got too difficult," assured a velvety voice, just as easy to place. Professor Snape. "She knows what she's doing, she doesn't make rash decisions. Remember that she was Head Girl in her time." Professor Malfoy scoffed, and I peeked around the door. It was some type of lounge, most likely the staff lounge, and the two professors were sitting in the middle, on opposite sides, with a fire whiskey bottle at Professor Malfoy's elbow. Professor Snape was watching it disapprovingly. "This isn't your problem anymore, Draco."

"But it is!" he fired back, his untied blond hair framing his frustrated face. "I can't just watch him from afar, knowing that I heard his first word! He was like a son to me, Severus, I feel responsible." Professor Snape looked quickly at the door, though he saw right through me.

"Don't let the Dark Lord hear you say that, he's very protective of that boy. Don't you recall how violent he was for months after they left? Didn't you get Crucioed three times in one day once?"

Professor Malfoy nodded, his upper lip curling. "Protective my arse, he hardly knew him. I'm almost glad that she didn't raise him in England, but I can only imagine the lies that she must have told to Creevey and whoever else was with her. Did the Dark Lord mention Blaise was there too?" Professor Snape nodded as I listened more closely, edging into the room. Were they talking about _my_ Dennis and Blaise? What boy were they talking about? And what did Voldemort have anything to do with it? "Good grief, we have to teach our master's child!"

The older man gagged and magicked a shot glass out of midair, before pouring himself a huge portion of Malfoy's whiskey, filling it to the brim. "Forget staying sober, this is going to be a rough year," he growled, before knocking it back. The other man smirked as he had a sip from his own mug.

"He's got to be bloody powerful; magic at two. I was there, I saw it!" Professor Snape rolled his eyes as Professor Malfoy moaned and put his head on his arms, which were crossed on the table.

"I know, I know, with the snitch and the ash, Merlin you sound like he _is_ your son!" The blond glared at him over his elbows as I remembered something my mother had once told me when I had asked her when I began to control my magic a few years ago. She had smiled happily and recounted, 'Oh it was the most adorable thing. I was having dinner with a friend and you were playing under the table with this little toy snitch. You couldn't catch it but we were watching you, when all of a sudden there was this small **_bang_**, like a tiny explosion! So we looked under the table to see you smirking with ash all over your face, as little bits of gold rained down from what was left of the snitch.' I had always assumed that the friend she was speaking of was Luna or Terry, but this was really too close to be a coincidence. Merlin, could they be talking about me? Was I Voldemort's son? It was fairly obvious that I wasn't a Weasley, but could I- but they were still talking.

"We'll have to watch him closely, make sure he doesn't lose his temper. Could you imagine the destruction he could cause?" They both sat silently, sipping their drinks with pensive expressions. I stood while furiously denying that I was their subject. There was no way, Mom would have told me! She wouldn't have done… that was a weird, pasty snake-man! I'd seen pictures of him and… ew. But having Professor Malfoy in the equation made some sense. I was certain he had been there somehow, I could remember it.

Just as I was about to turn and go back to my dorm to figure this all out, Professor Snape asked, "I wonder if he knows he's a Parseltongue?"

The blond just shrugged before answering, "Hermione was always afraid of snakes, so I doubt he's gotten a chance to face one. But it's not like he would open the Chamber anyway, at least not on purpose. He doesn't care about blood purity." My blood ran cold. Hermione? No. A mere coincidence. Professor Snape's eyebrows tilted as Professor Malfoy looked guilty. "Don't start on it, Severus, I don't need the lecture again."

"Just be careful what you tell him. Let's both watch our actions." He poured himself another shot and held it up in a toast. "To Roderick Riddle, may he not kill us all."

Professor Malfoy clinked his mug against it as he nodded with a snicker. _Riddle? _**Oh my**_-_

"Don't you mean Roderick Matthews?" My jaw clenched as they laughed, and I backed away slowly. There was **_no way_**. I could be- could be- the offspring of a- of a tyrant! As I ran back to my shared bedroom I remembered flashes of my earliest memories, red eyes, dark hair, and rows and rows of bookshelves.

The locket hummed against my chest as I crumpled into bed, not even taking it off.

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**A/N: Likes? Dislikes? I love the idea of Draco being totally responsible for Roderick and chattering Snape's ear off about the old days. And the next chapter is short so I'll do my best to update quickly, though keep in mind that I'm writing two other fics (stupid stupid me) and I'm mad busy with school so no guarantees.**

**Teaser?**

"_Did __you miss her?" He froze, and I bit my lip. Static crackled in the air._

"_Who?" he responded anxiously. _

_Without missing a beat, I fired, "Did you love her?"_

**Yeah, Roderick does some digging and really pisses off dear old Snape. Then we switch POVs to Hermione, who gets a blast from the past, as well as dances a bit and makes a tad bit of a fool of herself. Yeah, it's better not to ask about that one…**

**Final Word Count: 3684**


	10. Accusations

**A/N: Ok, I know, bad updater. Bad Ella. **

**Now that we've gotten that done, I'll continue. This is a tiny chapter, kind of a 'Let's get things over with' chapter before I get to go back to Hermione. But this chapter is still pretty good. Small, but full of action. I'll just started.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything else you may recognize. Though I do take credit for Roderick. Please don't steal him. Gah. You can see I've got no creativity left.**

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**Chapter Ten: Accusations**

The next morning was warm, with the birds chirping and the sun shining. I glared accusingly up at the clear sky as if it was keeping secrets from me. I wasn't speaking to Megan or anyone else, and I didn't even need to look up at the head table to know that Professor Malfoy was watching me with a frown. My eggs didn't stand a chance as I brutally speared my fork through them, imagining them to be my mother's face. She'd lied to me for _eleven years_! _Eleven_!

The locket was my only friend, from my father. My _real_ father. What had happened to him? Lord Voldemort, my father. I gave up on my mutilated eggs and pushed my plate away from me, imagining my life with a dark lord. Had he loved me? Obviously not, he wasn't here. I just couldn't process the idea. It made sense, but… it was the opposite of what I had grown up believing, that my father was honorable, fought for the light and that he had died after supporting his cause. This was completely different.

I left the Great Hall while smoothing my hair down in worry, the black strands still wet from my morning shower. I'd gotten my father's cheekbones, my father's body shape, my father's eyebrows, I looked exactly like him! This was insane, no wonder everyone knew! Did I have my father's temper, his stealth? Merlin, I was the new Heir of Slytherin. No _wonder_ I'd been sorted into Slytherin. I _was_ a Slytherin. The Dark Arts classroom was empty when I entered, and I sat down in the front row as I had the previous day. Who could I tell about this? No one, I could tell absolutely no one without breaking cover. Was this why we even had a cover? Because I was the son of the Dark Lord?

My god, was I a rape child? That was the only explanation, my mother wouldn't have had a liaison with Voldemort, she was light, she was the brain behind the Golden Trio! But I didn't want to imagine my mother, the strong, incredible, unbreakable Hermione Granger, huddled on a dirty floor somewhere in the dark. She wasn't like that, and she hardly ever cried. But she had only been nineteen when she had me, and my mother had planned ahead. Who would have had a baby if they knew they were too young, alone and hopeless?

Yet at the same time, if I was a rape child, how had my mother gotten away? None of it added up.

"Hey Roderick," someone said bitterly as the bench shifted. I hadn't noticed Megan enter the room, and, looking up, I observed her pouted lips and annoyed expression. "Why'd you bolt after breakfast? I had to get a ghost to lead me here!" Megan didn't know how well off she had it, rich, from a pureblooded family and loving parents. She didn't have to worry about hiding or aliases or stupid lockets.

"Do your parents love you?" I asked abruptly. She blinked at me as her lips settled into a neutral smile. After thinking for a moment, she sighed and nodded.

"Yes, I believe they do. Why do you ask?" I shrugged and was spared the trouble of explaining my situation by Snape unnecessarily throwing open the door, making the girl jump in her seat and shift closer to me. I only smiled slightly as she grabbed my hand and entwined her fingers into mine. She may by ignorant, but she was all I had here, aside from the awkward friendship between Professor Malfoy and myself.

Snape strode to the center of the room, before pausing and pulling out his wand. Most students watched it warily, but I knew he wouldn't do us harm without getting fired. The rules had changed at Hogwarts since its old management, but the injuring of students was luckily still forbidden. He scowled at us before flicking his wand sharply, causing all benches to disappear out from under us. We all clattered to the floor and Megan squealed as she lost her balance and fell flat on her back. I sent Snape a strong glare as I helped her to her feet. He didn't notice and vanished all the desks soon after, all of our supplies disappearing as well. She gasped, amazed by the sudden openness in the classroom, but I watched the professor warily as he 'hmmed' softly at the standing students. In a mocking sneer, he drawled,

"We'll be going over basic hexes today, so partner up." I nodded to Megan, all the while going over safe spells I could use. "Nothing to cause serious harm, I just want to see what you already know, and how fast your reflexes are." I smirked. This would be fun. "Alright you dunderheads, start."

"I won't do anything serious," I told my partner as I pulled out my wand, caressing the soft wood. She grinned at me, pulling out her own holly wand.

"No need Roderick, I have quite a lot of curses, and I might just surprise you." My eyebrows rose, but I nodded for her to start. Giggling, she hit me with a basic, harmless, though quite effective tickling charm that sent me into waves of laughter and forced me to sit down. Snape raised an eyebrow as he walked past us, looking down at my squirming figure disapprovingly.

"Surely you can do better than _that_, Ms. Greengrass," he taunted as the charm faded and I stood back up, blushing slightly. Glancing back at me, he added, "I'm sure _Matthew_ can take it." He moved on to the next and Megan rolled her eyes at his retreating form, but I snapped back to attention and nonverbally sent a leg-locker curse at her. Completely taken by surprise by my nonverbal attack, she fell backwards onto her backside, blinking at me in shock. I folded my arms across my chest, knowing I must appear like the essence of smug. Noticing Snape had stopped his observation to watch me, I showed off and did the counter curse without speaking, forgetting about mother's warning to stay anonymous.

"You can do nonverbal magic?" Megan asked me in a stage whisper as she dusted herself off. I nodded, twirling my wand between my fingers. Having a safety-conscious mother meant learning defense early on, and I'd been able to do nonverbal magic for about a year. Mum said it was easier for me because I had powerful parents. Now I understood what she meant. "But that's not taught until sixth year!"

"I started magic early," I said cryptically, shrugging it off. "Your turn." Seeming a bit jealous, she cleared her throat and recited a spell she thought I wouldn't know.

"Murkus Lesure." It was supposed to alter my eyesight so I couldn't see clearly. However, to her surprise as well as mine, the brown jet of light evaporated into a thin air just before it could collide with my chest. Stunned, I blinked down at the locket nestled beneath my vest, knowing that it was what had protected me. "What just happened?" the blond responded irritably. Before I could process a lie, Snape was upon me, and he was not amused.

"Alright Matthews, what are you using? An amulet?" He had noticed the slight bulge under my robes. I shook my head frantically, stepping backwards. He took one forward as I wondered what I could possibly do to sweet talk my way out of trouble with Hogwarts' most infamous hardass. Looking ready to Avada me, he snarled, "Don't lie to me, I can see it! Hand it over! Don't make me give you a detention."

"No sir," I responded fearfully, pulling my robes tightly around my frame.

"Give it to me, Matthews," he threatened, lowering his voice to a whisper that only we could hear. "Don't make me hate you like I hated your mother." Now annoyed and furious, already frustrated by the recently gained information about my father, I yelled back,

"My mother didn't go here!" He straightened up and gulped, realizing what he'd just admitted. With a small slice of satisfaction, it dawned on me that if this incident got back to my father, Snape could be killed. His hands shaking with a mixture of anger and humiliation, he pointed his finger behind him at the door.

"Headmaster's office. _Now_," he hissed and my book bag materialized by my feet.

'Don't draw any attention to yourself, keep a clear record.' I shivered as I remembered mother's words. I knew the consequences, her rare tears. I had just ruined everything.

"But sir-,"

"**_GO!"_** With a slight burn of the locket against my skin, I scooped up my bag with as much dignity as I could muster, my head held high. Screw them. Screw them _all_.

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The walk was long and it would remain in my memory forever. I kept my head low, my eyes on the floor, and my breathing even, considering what I could do now. There was no way I could show anyone the locket, I knew that, but there was no way I could refuse to do what Lucius Malfoy wanted. I didn't always agree with mum and there were no words for how angry I was with her for not telling me _Voldemort_ was my father, but I understood why she didn't want to be found, as well as why she kept such secrets. Rape child or not, she was ashamed, terrified of being found. And she _wouldn't_ be found. I would keep her safe.

What had my father _done_ to her? She'd lied to her friends and her family alike, and for what? And what about those early memories that were random and fragmented but still clear? There was no snake-like face, only wavy black hair and silky robes. I needed someone to talk to, but who? Mother? No, she'd panic and pull me out of school. Megan? Laughable, she wouldn't ever associate with me again. Professor Malfoy?

I froze in the middle of the empty corridor, remembering. It was foggy, soft, and sudden, but I could see it, see him, see _them_, _together_. Mum laughing and smiling as she watched Professor Malfoy bounce me on his knee. His gray eyes were flecked with blue, aged but happy and warm. He tickled my sides as I giggled, the picture of the perfect family. What I had always wanted.

'When I was in school she was in my year and I _tortured_ her, only to realize later that she was what I had wanted for years.' None of this made sense, the two images conflicting with each other. There had been two men in my childhood. Black vs. Blond, frowns vs. smiles. Abandonment vs. love?

Who was he? Who was _I_? Roderick Weasley, Roderick Riddle, or Roderick Malfoy?

"Roderick?" I started, looking up to see Professor Malfoy peering out of his classroom at me. _He chuckled and blew me a raspberry while she buttoned up my pajamas and gave her a kiss on the cheek before leaving._ "Why aren't you in class?"

"I've been sent to the Headmaster's office by Professor Snape," I responded meekly, averting my eyes.

"What did you do?" he asked with no emotion. I cringed in shame.

"I refused to remove my mother's necklace," I mumbled, picking at the edge of my Slytherin house patch. He sighed, leaning against the doorframe. Would he judge me, question me, or protect me? Protect her? Make her smile again?

"Why?" he asked again? Feeling daring and desperate, I responded evenly,

"Because my father gave it to her." I looked him directly in the eye as I added, "It's the only thing I know is real." He looked away, obviously feeling guilty. There was a moment of silence as my words settled in, but it was awkward and he filled it in quickly.

"I'll speak to Professor Snape. Just get ready for your next class." That wasn't good enough, that wasn't an answer. Covering my path for me wasn't enough, not enough to make up for vanishing out of our lives. Just as he was about to turn around, I asked,

"Do you miss her?" He froze. Static ran through the air.

"Who?" he responded anxiously. Without missing a beat, I added,

"The woman who vanished?" He slowly turned around, his loose hair shading his eyes. His voice was tired.

"Roderick…"

"Did you love her?" That got him to look up. He was absolutely stunned. My voice cracked as I repeated, "Did you?" I felt so small all of a sudden, like I couldn't control anything. I couldn't stay wondering anymore. "Do you regret not finding her?" At first I thought he would just leave, not explain or comfort, or anything. I could see he wanted to, to just walk away from Pandora's box and go back to his life. But we both knew it was too late for that. There was no turning back now. I'd started the conversation and I'd finish it. "Do you regret not finding me?"

The question hung in the air, as if waiting for someone to answer it. I gulped, running a hand through my hair as a nervous gesture. He pleaded with me with his eyes to just drop it, but we knew I wouldn't.

"I regret it every single day of my pitiful life," he whispered, gripping the doorway molding in his fist. "You and your mother took my life by storm, changing my view and my relationships and everything I was. When you both left I was so lost, and had no idea what to do. I didn't love her, but I could have if things had been different, and I loved you like I would my own son." Professor Malfoy sighed, looking back down at the floor.

"But I wasn't?" He shook his head.

"No. Nothing could change that, and that's why I didn't find you two. I read every one of your mother's favorite books, spent hours in your old rooms, and had no life for months. I'm sorry Roderick, but it was just too complicated and you-,"

"Wouldn't understand," I finished for him. He nodded. Coughing awkwardly, he added,

"I'll speak to Professor Snape for you." The class bell rang and with a faked smile I said goodbye and walked away, trying to forget his guilty eyes. Maybe it would have been better if I had never asked.


	11. Power

**A/N: Ok, I'm getting a head start on this chapter. I haven't gotten much feedback for the previous chapter yet, but seeing as what I got was flattering, I'm in a pretty good mood. As of now I'm not sure if I'll just make this a small chapter and update quickly, or make it a big one and not update for a while, but I suppose you'll figure it out. Anyway, huzzah, POV switch. And please, I beg you; pardon the use of bad rap music in this chapter. I lost it a bit when I wrote this and wasn't thinking logically. Hopefully it's not that annoying.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger, or anyone else created by JK Rowling. However, I do take credit for Roderick. If you steal him, a plague upon both your houses. The song lyrics to 'So Sick' belong to Ne-Yo, and I take no credit for his work.**

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**Chapter Eleven: Power**

I stared at Roderick's first letter, feeling stupid. I had known this would happen, that Roderick would be recognized, but this was much faster than I had expected. It was just my luck that Draco was teaching at Hogwarts, but at least it didn't seem like he would tell him anything. Although he had been a total jerk when he was a teenager, going from the way my son described him, Draco seemed to be different. He seemed like the man who had been my friend, not my enemy. It made me both nervous and relieved to know Roderick had someone looking out for him.

But I was still scared to know that he was hundreds of miles away where I couldn't protect him. And yet what Ernie, Dennis, Terry, and Luna didn't understand was that he was safer there than here at home. It was true that in England he could be exposed as the Dark Lord's son, be put under pressure, _and_ be manipulated, but at least at Hogwarts I knew he would be taught to handle his power properly. The truth was that I couldn't handle him; he was his father's son. He was innocent, respectful, and nice, but he was simply too strong for me to teach, and the only place he could be taught as such was at a school where the staff knew exactly who he was.

Roderick didn't know just how powerful he was. He didn't realize that when he was upset, the air crackled with magic. Since he had started magic at such a young age, his progress was accelerated. His ability to do nonverbal magic was only the start, and before I had seen him off on the train platform he had been starting to perform wandless magic, though he wasn't aware of it. It was normal for children of Roderick's age to unintentionally blow things up or break glass, as shown by Harry's inflation of his aunt when he was thirteen, but for Roderick this wasn't all. If he was simply bored, tired or irritated I had seen him levitate plates or books or even his bed without noticing a thing. And I knew why he was so powerful.

It was his father. There was something about the length of time between Tom's youth ritual and Roderick's conception that must have increased his magical stamina. It wasn't a large period, and I doubt it was longer than a half an hour. But whatever it was, it meant Roderick was much more powerful than normal children his age.

However, since Luna and the gang didn't know that Ron wasn't my son's father, it wouldn't be pleasant for them to find out why he was so powerful. So he was at Hogwarts. It was what was right, and that was that.

It was only normal for mothers to worry about their kids at boarding school, and I was no different. But because of Roderick's letter I wasn't as afraid. He had Draco to look out for him.

Instead of worrying, I distracted myself by blasting Muggle music, enjoying having the apartment all to myself. Roderick hated pop, preferring classical music under Terry's influence. The local Top 40 station was in the middle of a song, one that normally I would have never listened to but found amusing now. Throwing my manager's apron from the bookstore onto the couch, I swung my hips a little to the music.

'_I'm so fed up with my thoughts of you and your memory_

_And how every song reminds me of what used to be_

_That's the reason,'_

I could relate to whoever this guy was, I hated love songs, too. Love was overrated; Ron didn't really love me, Draco wasn't allowed to love me, and Tom… Tom couldn't love me, could he? My son loved me, but that wasn't the same. He wasn't a boyfriend, or a husband. As sick as it sounded, I missed living at the fortress, just being somewhere where people _knew_, where I didn't have to hide anything. I had a good life here, a career. I could date if I wanted to. But I didn't really want to.

'_I'm so sick of love songs, so tired of tears_

_So done with wishing you were still here,'_

Chuckling at my own immaturity, I threw my arms up over my head and stepped up onto the coffee table, mimicking one of the slutty girls in a music video. This was the good thing about living alone; you could act like an ass and not be caught. Plus this was a good stress reliever. It was hard to think about Tom and our eleven-year-old son when listening to mindless hip-hop. Plus, to be honest, gyrating to a beat like this was fun.

'Said I'm so sick of love songs, so sad and slow

So why can't I turn off the radio?'

"Hermione?" I yelped and spun around, clicking my remote to turn the radio off. Blushing profusely, I turned to the doorway, expecting to see Blaise, who had promised to stop by after work, only to find it empty. I glanced at the fireplace to find the head of a person I had never expected to see again. With another yelp, I tripped and fell backwards off the coffee table, my legs sticking up over the table like the wicked witch's legs from under a house. Concerned, he crawled through and into my living room, trailing a line of ash behind his leather loafers. I stared, absolutely shocked, at the pale hand in front of me, too scared to look up and follow the arm up to the anxious, pointed face of Draco Malfoy. "Are you alright?" he asked me as I hesitantly gripped his wrist. He pulled to my feet as I responded,

"What on earth are you doing here?" Seeing I was unharmed, he let of my hand and smiled wryly, pushing an escaped strand of his blond hair behind his ear. I self-consciously mirrored his action and pulled my own dyed black hair into a loose ponytail. He didn't look much different, just older and slightly more ruffled.

"Call it a Parent-Teacher Conference," he said with a smirk. My own smile growing, I threw myself forward and hugged him. He embraced me tightly, smiling into my neck, as I grinned shamelessly. "It's so good to see you, Hermione."

"You too, Draco!" Pulling back, he rested his hands on my shoulders. His smile turned to a frown as he took in my black hair and somewhat skinny frame. I did the same, noticing how much his long blond hair made him look like his father. But I dismissed the thought quickly, realizing what he had said before. "And what exactly do you mean about a Parent-Teacher Conference?" Automatically his face became even whiter, and I froze, imagining the worse.

"He's already on Severus's bad side." I groaned and stepped away, putting my back to him in shame. I had _warned_ Roderick to be careful, how could he have not listened to me? Draco continued, knowing I wanted the full story. "From what I gather, he was wearing some sort of protective necklace and refused to take it off. Severus was infuriated when I spoke to him afterwards. He said he lost his temper and mentioned you." Holding my breath, I asked anxiously, staring into the lit fireplace,

"Did anyone mention his father?"

"No, but Slughorn was prying and Roderick is suspicious. My guess is that he'll know by Christmas, he's bound to figure it out soon. I shiver to think what the hat told him." Closing his eyes, I didn't fight when Draco took my hand. "This was a very bad idea, Hermione." Scowling, I turned around, blowing my hair out of my eyes.

"You don't understand, Draco, he needs to be at Hogwarts." Bu this was not enough for my old friend, for nothing ever satisfied him.

He squeezed my hand before asking, tight-lipped as if to restrain himself from yelling, "Why?"

Why did he need to go to Hogwarts? Good question. And I had a thousand different answers, ready to be pulled out on command. But I didn't need to lie to Draco, for he knew. He had been with me the whole way, when he had been born, when he had grown up. He knew perfectly well who Roderick's father was.

"He's too powerful," I admitted, looking down at the floor. "He's safer somewhere that his parentage is known so that he can be taught to handle his magic properly."

"But what about staying hidden?" he asked, obviously relieved that I was being honest, though still clearly annoyed. I wish I had the locket on me, that I didn't feel so stupid. "Hermione, everybody knows who he is, and it's quite possible that you'll find the Dark Lord himself on your doorstep in the next few days."

"He's safer there, where he's able to learn." Draco wrenched his hand out of mine, before grabbing my chin. He forced me to look into his eyes, causing me to realize just how protective he was of my son. I gulped, and seeing this, he softened his tough to a gentle caress on the side of my cheek.

"But do you really want him to find out?" Draco asked quietly, the rest of the question dropping off into the air. With his other hand, he tucked one of my loose locks behind my ear. This was what I missed, truth, comfort, and loving gentle caresses. "After you've worked so hard to prevent it?"

"He'll yell," I whispered with a tiny smile. "And he'll curse, and probably set things on fire unintentionally, but I honestly don't care." He frowned, but I continued anyway. "I just can't look at him every morning and see how much he looks like his father. I can't have my lies haunt me anymore." He sighed, but knew better than to argue.

"They do look alike," he said softly, with a small hint of another emotion. Jealousy. He kissed me on the forehead before saying goodbye and leaving.

I didn't sleep well that night.


	12. Caught

**A/N: Hey! Glad to see you all liked the last chapter. Quite a few of you mentioned that you'd like to see a bit more of Draco and Hermione, but I have to warn you that while this **_**may**_** be happening in the near future, it won't be for a while. Sorry! No worries.**

**Anyway, here you go! Chapter 12. It's Roderick's POV, and back to Hermione next.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or Hermione Granger. Yeah, they all belong to JK Rowling. Surprised?**

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**Chapter 12: Caught**

_Dear Roderick,_

_I'm glad to hear that you're happy at school. As you well know, I thoroughly enjoyed most of my years at Hogwarts, and I do hope that your time is far better than my own. _

_As for the sorting, I am very proud that you got sorted into Slytherin, and you should be too! It is only a stereotype that all Slytherins are unfair and evil, and I have known a few who are trustworthy and kind. Blaise was a Slytherin and he expresses his congratulations that you joined his old house. However, just being a Slytherin does not mean you don't have to worry about Professor Snape. I warn you once again to watch your temper around him, and never say anything to provoke him. Professor Snape is very unpredictable and it would not be beyond him to turn against you without any reason. Please, dear, I trust you but I know how your temper can flare. You got that from your father._

_Megan sounds like a lovely person. A little perkiness never hurt anyone, and that may be exactly what you need to balance out all the pressure of your first year. It gets easier, I promise you._

_As for Professor Malfoy, you needn't worry. Unlike his father, he is one of the Slytherins I mentioned; trustworthy and kind. Still, I urge you not to break cover, and be careful what you say in his presence. He is a good man, but is still a Death Eater and has obligations of his own. Do not force him to break them. He is, after all, Lucius Malfoy's son._

_Take good care of your necklace, and it would be wise for you not to wear it to classes. The two of us are the only people who know of it, son, and it must stay that way._

_Keep up with your studies and stay safe,_

_Mom_

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My mother was a researcher, always working impossibly hard to know every scrap of knowledge possible. She knew everything about magic, light or dark, and somehow she'd seen it all. Mom could brew potions without the aid of a book, and recite the complete Hogwarts: A History backwards. She could explain Muggle sciences and recommend further readings on any topic. Anything I asked her, she would answer.

But I didn't want to ask her about this particular question, and instead I answered it myself. After all, I was my mother's son, and had inherited her ability to find anything in the text my peers avoided. So, I spent my first weekend in the library, pulling large volumes of names off shelves. The sorting hat had said a man named Riddle was my father, so that was where I looked first. Riddle was not a pureblood name, and there was only one Riddle who had attended Hogwarts in the past century. Tom Riddle, Slytherin, Head Boy, unbeaten NEWTS scores.

I found him in an old yearbook that the librarian dug out for me. My guess was true; I looked identical to my father. My hair, my face, my posture even! While it was also true that I had my mum's eyes, it was evident that I was Roderick Riddle.

I snuck out a copy of the yearbook and duplicated it in my common room, watching my father smirk at the camera. It still didn't make sense to me, though. Why had mum been with him? Why was I even here? Although it sounded arrogant, my father had been handsome in his teenage years, but my mum hadn't even been born while he had looked like me. From what I knew and could dig up in the library, Lord Voldemort hardly ever made public appearances and if he did, it was in a flurry of memory charms, so I guessed he was still the pasty white serpent man that Terry spoke of. But his looks weren't the point.

There was always the rape idea, as unpleasant and vulgar as it was. However, I couldn't see how Professor Malfoy would fit into that equation. I preferred to believe that he wouldn't allow her to come to such harm. And for the Weasley lie to work, she would have had to… conceive me around the time of the Final Battle. And two plus two didn't equal four with this information.

My mother's letter arrived on Sunday morning, and did nothing to improve my morale. I had subconsciously chosen to forget that Professor Malfoy was a Death Eater, but remembering that fact triggered an idea. My mum had been marked down as a missing person after the end of the war, but what if she had lived with Professor Malfoy? I did remember them together, after all. And perhaps Mum had her fling with Voldemort at some point then? But that scenario was even less appealing than the rape one. In this one she was fully aware of what she was doing, allowing herself to be used by the Dark Lord and his side. At least in the first she was a victim.

Still, I refrained from wearing the locket outside of my shared bedroom, and mourned its loss. My confidence took a huge hit, and I stopped answering questions in class, unless asked by a teacher directly. Megan stuck by my side, however, and found ways to cheer me up somehow. In fact, she even found a way to help me enjoy our flying lessons, which started toward the end of September. The week before we were to meet with Madame Edgecomb, the flying instructor, Megan taught me all about Quidditch. At first I had been irritated by her chatter, but I quickly became fascinated by the sport. This news surprised my mother endlessly, although she quickly blamed it on my 'dad's' talent with flying. I said nothing on the topic in my letter, and only wrote how I wished Ron were around to teach me how to fly. She wrote something along the lines of an apology, and didn't make any reply to aid my Voldemort Theory.

Regardless of my previous training, or lack there of, I ended up a pretty good flier. Not excellent, of course, but I could get off the ground before Austin Flint did, who had bragged endlessly about training with his father Marcus, captain of the Ballycastle Bats. I had snickered as I hovered over Austin, my left foot by his ear, as he yelled repeatedly at his broom to lift. Megan was overjoyed and had clapped like a true friend as I raced around the courtyard, drawing the attention of Madame Edgecomb. She had nodded encouragingly, giving me permission to fly higher. It was relaxing, relieving really, to be good at something without having to work _constantly_ for perfection. And Mum was proud, but since she had never been a successful flier, she didn't know how to be involved in my new interest other than to send me a few flying guides that Dennis had dug up.

I began to look forward to flying lessons on Sunday mornings. I could endure Snape's heated glares and Professor Malfoy's nervous glances and this whole Voldemort ordeal, because in those brief minutes when I was on my own, I didn't have to think.

It was in November that I had the idea. It sprouted up randomly when I least expected it, in the middle of Dark Arts class. Snape had been greatly irritated when I had started to smirk during his lecture on the differences between hexes and jinxes, though he had been unable to prevent it. I suppose it was Mum's letter that did it, how she avoided addressing my father in particular, reminding me of Ron Weasley. No, he was not my father, but I had been told enough about him to know that he had played on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. His best friend, Harry Potter, had, too. They both had brooms. Brooms that would still be untouched in their dorm room. Brooms free for my taking.

It was alarmingly easy to remove the boards covering the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. I shimmied through the portrait hole, taking care to keep the cloak tight around me before illusioning it quickly. When I turned around, I gasped. The common room was untouched, appearing exactly as it had in Dennis's old photos. The fire was burning in the large grate across the room, its curls lapping at the stone calmly as if it had been recently stoked. Homework was still laid out across the tables as if everyone had just suddenly left the tower for dinner, and several chessboards were still set up by the fire. It was creepy, to be honest. I looked away from the round tables and sofas, and instead looked for the two spiral staircases.

They were to my right, and I quickly pulled off the invisibility cloak and dropped it on a nearby chair. I hurried up the boys' staircase and walked down the hallway on the next floor to a door marked '7th Years' on a small bronze plaque. My heart beating, I pulled open the door.

This room, unlike the freakishly neat common room, was an absolute mess. Someone had dumped out their entire school bag in the middle of the room as if searching frantically for something. The beds were made but most of them were piled with school books and a few school robes. On one bed was an open book of defensive curses, and I realized what had happened. The Gryffindor boys must have yanked out anything they'd need for the final battle before running off to fight. The thought gave me goosebumps.

Ron's bed was the easiest to recognize because of the abandoned Weasley sweater hanging off the bedpost, and a ragged-looking family portrait taped on the wall. Unnerved by the silence, I rushed to it and lowered to my knees on the carpet in order to dig my hand underneath. I felt around for his broomstick and immediately my hand hit the smooth wooden handle. It was a relief to find it still intact, and though the broom was over a decade old, it was nice to know I now had my own. First years were now allowed to have their own brooms and hopefully no one would notice I'd suddenly gained ownership of one.

While I was at it, I collected a very large Gryffindor Quidditch robe from Ron's trunk, a set of pads, and a pair of cleats. My plan was to magic them all down to fit me and change the colors in order to wear them in public. Feeling satisfied, I shrunk them and slid them in the pocket of my jeans, along with the broom, and turned to leave. However, to my horror, there was already someone in the doorway.

"Students aren't allowed in this tower," sneered the shimmering teenage boy blocking my path. My jaw dropped as I slowly examined the ghost who had caught me, from his messy dark hair, glowing eyes, and bloody Gryffindor school robes to his huge, ruby adorned sword. There was no doubt in my mind that this was the boy who my mother had once followed into battle. This was Harry Potter.

"Merlin," I mumbled, still stunned. He glared at me with more hatred than I'd ever seen in my life as his fingers tightened around the sword in his hand. Harry's eyes narrowed when he saw my grip on Ron's left kneepad.

"_Raiding_ student belongings? How _dare_ you, you little snake?!" I gulped, realizing how the situation must appear. He didn't know who my mum was, and he probably recognized me from how my father must have once looked. Desperate to get away and also quite nervous, I stammered,

"Please, I didn't mean to-"

He cut me off, "Who are you?" My eyes darted to the doorway behind him, but there was no hope of running. Sure he was dead, but he could still rat me out to a professor. "A Slytherin, I see," he continued, noticing the green patch on my robe. "No doubt a direct descendent, judging by how much you look like Voldemort himself." Yup, he knew. This was not good.

"Roderick Matthew," I answered, my voice shaky. Ashamed of my lie, I looked down to the floor. He gave me a calculating look before drifting closer. He was radiating cold. I shivered.

Harry smirked as he drawled, "You're lying, aren't you little Slythie?"

I bit my lip, thinking longingly of my locket. I hated being afraid, _hated_ it more than embarrassment or confusion. Here I was, afraid of a dead person. How wonderful. "Roderick Granger," I whispered, closing my eyes. There was no response to my confession, so I hesitantly added, "Although Mum's friends call me Roderick Weasley."

"You are neither a Weasley nor a Granger," he protested, his voice low and steely. I winced, reopening my eyes. He was glowering at me. "You're a first year; they died before you were born. Lying gets you nowhere, you little brat, it would do you well to stop."

This was getting annoying. I glared back at him, slipping my hand into my pocket for my wand. It would be useless of course, but I felt better holding it. My voice was even as I snarled, "Hermione Granger's not dead, and I would know. She lives in New York City in America with some other survivors."

My words were met with silence. Harry no longer looked so furious, though his face was creased by confusion. I continued, "As for Ron Weasley, he died a few months before I was born, true, and I've recently realized that it wouldn't matter anyway. You're correct in saying I'm not a Weasley." This comment, so casually thrown out, irritated him further, and I could see him flexing his fingers around the sword. Sensing he wouldn't trust me until I had told him everything, I shamefully looked down at the floor and finally added, "The hat said I was a Riddle, but I never met my father."

He scoffed and growled at me, "That much is obvious, but you're _not a Granger_. Hermione Granger _died_ in the Great War!"

Now I was more annoyed. How dare this _ghost_ tell me my own mother was gone? No, wait, how dare he tell me my mother wasn't even my mother? My eyes flaming, "Don't tell me she's dead! She's thirty years old and she lives in a flat in New York City!" I sighed and closed my eyes. I shouldn't have lost my temper. I tried to never lose my temper if I could help it. Breathing evenly through my nose, I hesitantly opened my eyes.

Harry was gone.

Dejected though successful, I left the room and slowly wound down the spiral staircase, wondering what to do. This meant I didn't fit in anywhere, not at home, not with the Slytherins, and not even here with my mother's dead best friend. The warm colors looked so welcoming but I felt that if I were to sit down and try to get comfortable, the room would reject me and spit me back out. It wasn't supposed to be this hard. For one fleeting moment I wished that I had a normal life, just as I had so many times in the past month.

My head hanging, I crawled back through the portrait hole as quietly as I could, before slowly stretching my arms and turning in the direction of the Slytherin common room. However, before I could walk a single step, I saw my path was blocked by a very tall, dark figure.

Frozen in fear, my eyes widened as I slowly looked up; seeing the frock coat covered in buttons, the long arms folded across the figure's wide chest, and the beaky nose topped by the two black eyes.

My heard sunk to my toes as Professor Snape smirked grimly and drawled, "Mr. Matthews, what an unexpected surprise."

**0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0**

**A/N: So… yeah. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with Harry for a while. Eh, well. I'll figure it out. Next chapter we switch to Hermione for quite a long time. She gets herself into a bit of a mess, and Tom comes back, too! And…Hermione's a slut! Ha ha, couldn't help but say it. Teaser?**

"_You're not weak, Miss Granger," he whispered, the familiar rumble in his voice sending tiny shocks down my spine as I wept. Suddenly I was nineteen again, my back against the spines of the books behind me. My hair was in braids, my dress tangled in my lap, the carpet pressing against my skin, my kingdom falling to pieces. But now I knew what I hadn't then._

**Dun dun dun. So, yeah. I don't have much to say. Happy summer everyone! Review!**

**Word Count: 1908**


	13. Relapse

**A/N: Yes, I love this chapter! Love it! Well, I just love Tom, so I love writing chapters with him. But this chapter is fantastic too. We're back to Hermione now, which is fun. She's such a mess and yet she refuses to admit it. Yay. Anyway, keep that in mind while you read this and feel like shouting, 'No! Don't do **_**that**_**, you bloody idiot!'**

**And I know that Tom is really OOC this chapter, but, well, deal with it. He's human.**

**My beta is love. I love you Christina. She betaed this whole chapter in a few hours.**

**Rating: R. No nasty smut but R for safety since Hermione gets some action this chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

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**Chapter 13: Relapse**

"Caroline wanted to know if you'd like to join us for dinner," Blaise asked me pleasantly, smiling as I dug for my keys in my tote bag. The satchel seemed to be bottomless, though I well knew that it was Muggle, and I constantly lost things in its depth, having to spend several minutes finding the objects I threw so randomly into it. But I was in a good mood today, and the endless search to find my keys didn't seem like such a chore. Blaise went on, "She said she'll make that swordfish that you love, to celebrate. It's amazing that you're opening up another bookstore in the village, Jane, you can't eat on your own at a time like this!" My second name felt like my normal one after almost ten years of answering to it, and I nodded, sighing as my fingers closed around the felt cord of my keychain. I pulled them out and rearranged them.

"That would be lovely, Brad, tell Caroline I'd love to come." Caroline was Blaise's Muggle girlfriend who he worked with at the hospital. They were both nurses in the pediatric wing, and she was completely ignorant concerning his magical status. She knew him as simply Brad Weinberger, from New Jersey. The couple was adorable, and I was happy for Blaise, who had turned out to be my best friend. He often reminded me of Draco with his aristocratic poise, no doubt bred into them as young purebloods.

"Swing by her apartment around seven and maybe we can catch a late movie afterwards," he responded, leaning against the wall. I slid my key into the lock and nodded, before turning it and opening the door. Blaise followed me in and I pulled off my coat and hung it on a hook before walking into the kitchen. He took time to unbutton all of the buttons on the front of his jacket, staying in the foyer. Halfway through the door into my living room, I froze.

Draped carefully over the back of an armchair was a black cloak, sporting small, ornate silver clasps. I knew who it belonged to as soon as I set my eyes on it. It was _his_, Voldemort's. Which could only mean…

"Miss Granger, you have some serious explaining to do." My eyes drifted shut at the sound of his rich, calming, _familiar_ voice. Turning around, I saw Tom was standing in the doorway to my bedroom, his hair styled the way he always kept it, his once young face now mature and handsome. He was scowling, his arms folded across his chest, wearing once again Muggle attire; blue jeans and a gray button-down shirt with a black blazer over it. He looked incredible.

"Jane, who is he?" growled a much less calm voice from my other side. Both of us turned to see Blaise, wide-eyed, with one hand still lingering on the doorknob.

Horror-stricken by what this meant, I flew to his side and did my best to steer him out the door, muttering a quick apology; "I'm sorry, tell Caroline I can't make it, urgent plans, I'll call you later, don't worry, he's an old friend, don't tell anyone, bye!" before shoving him out of my apartment and slamming the door shut. I locked all the bolts and leant my back against the wood. Shit. My breathing seemed ragged, caught in my throat as the full effect of this event sunk in. This had to mean bad news, it _had_ to. There was no other reason he would be here. Someone had told Roderick's secret. Maybe Lucius had done something. Or could my baby have accidentally blown up the school? It wasn't beyond his power.

"Why on earth are you here?" I stammered, looking up from the floor to find that he had followed me into the foyer. I had never understood how he could loom over me so easily, and today was no exception. He seemed to have gotten taller. Then it started again, as it always used to when he entered a room.

-_Tomohmoremorepleasegodyes_-

It had been three years since I had broken off my short relationship with Terry, and since then it had been all work for me. Three years, and suddenly all of the unreleased arousal seemed to spread through me, making my skin beak out in goose bumps and an ache begin to grow in my core. He was right there, tangible, only two yards away. He gave me a funny look, noticing my strange demeanor, but it quickly morphed into his regular expression of cool disapproval.

"About two months ago Lucius came to me with a surprising bit of information," he started calmly, his voice not a drawl but a normal tone, for now. "A boy by the name of Roderick Matthews, parents Jane and Michael Matthews, was enrolled to start his first year at Hogwarts, even though he lived in New York City with his widowed mother." With these words coming together in my brain, I realized that there was much more to be afraid of than Tom's emotions. Something _was_ wrong with Roderick! "What were you _thinking_, sending him to school there after how much I've struggled to protect you?"

"What do you mean, struggled to protect me? All you did was send us a damn locket!" I snarled, stepping away from the door. Continuing along with my chores as if the European Dark Lord wasn't in my apartment, I passed him and re-entered the kitchen, where I started pulling out the ingredients to make pasta. He watched me before sneering,

"Don't be daft, it took a lot more than that to keep you two safe. Anybody could have tracked you down and killed you without punishment, and most of the Death Eaters knew where you were anyway." I glared at him, knowing this was true. He sat down on one of the stools at the counter, folding his hands on the tabletop.

"If you were so annoyed to find I enrolled him, why did you wait until now to voice your objections?" I asked instead. He frowned at the pan I had put on the counter, but continued anyway.

"I gave you the benefit of the doubt, knowing you would be so overcome with shame for having provided me an heir that you would have rehearsed your story with Roderick obsessively. When he left for Hogwarts, perhaps he would be able to carry on without arousing suspicion." Part of me warmed at his words, for they showed trust and praise, but his true meaning showed through. I stopped filling up the pan with hot water, turned off the faucet, and leaned my palms on the edge of the sink, my back to him. I closed my eyes, breathing through my nose. Unwanted, the idea of Draco popped up in my mind, his arms around my waist as he hugged me from behind, whispering comfortingly in my ear, '_It's fine, he's safe. Nothing's wrong.'_

Tears blurred my vision as I wondered why I hadn't just kept fighting in the last battle, why I had ever lived with Tom.

"What did he do?" I finally asked, exhausted, _defeated_. He didn't answer right away, and after a minute I couldn't take the silence. Whirling around, I shouted, tears beginning to fall, "What did he _**do?!**_" Tom stared at me, looking a cross between sympathetic and annoyed. I raised my hand to shield a side of my face, before rounding the counter to sink onto a stool next to him, careful not to touch him in any way. If I did… that would only make things worse.

"Severus Snape found Roderick climbing out of the Gryffindor portrait hole yesterday night. Normally the punishment for such an infraction would be expulsion, but considering who he is, he got off on a month of detentions with Snape." I felt ill all of a sudden and put my head in my hands, choking up. He didn't continue, only sat beside me until I dissolved into muffled gasps and whimpers. This news filled me with shame, and I couldn't stand having to sit next to stoic old Tom, disappointed with my parenting skills. He placed a cool hand on my shoulder, the tips of his fingers ghosting across the side of my neck. Everything was so sudden, so surreal, and I blamed that for why I swiveled around on my stool and thrust my face against his chest, my fingers curling around the pocket of his blazer. He was cold, just as I remembered him, and his chest was still sinewy and strong. Reluctantly, he slowly wound his arms around me, his hand on the back of my neck, sneaking into my hair, as he guided my cheek against his firm collar bone, the other on my lower back.

-_NoTompleasegodIneednowohTomplease_-

I squeezed my eyes shut, so very afraid. Afraid for Roderick, all alone in a big school. Afraid for Blaise, who would no doubt overreact about my visitor. Afraid for me, alone and vulnerable and all of a sudden so very _weak_. It was all coming back, the whispers, the shame, the fear.

'Do you spread your legs for him each night, you little slut?'

"You're not weak, Miss Granger," he whispered, the familiar rumble in his voice sent tiny shocks down my spine as I wept. Suddenly I was nineteen again, my back against the spines of the books being me. My hair was in braids, my dress pulled over my head, the carpet pressing against my skin, my kingdom falling to pieces. But now I knew what I hadn't then.

I was in control this time, acting as I wished. I wasn't being manipulated. He pulled me into his lap, my legs sitting sidesaddle, and I tilted my head up to press a light kiss against the underside of his jaw. He flinched, a tad startled, but all the same kissed my forehead adoringly, carefully. He quite obviously wasn't comfortable with this but didn't know what to do. I nuzzled my nose against his neck, aware that instead of everything going as quickly as it had the first time, now everything was terribly slow. I could feel everything, his hands hesitantly skimming across my back, and my mind was much more focused on enjoying this, not letting it pass by in a flicker.

"Hermione, this isn't wise," he whispered, yet already he was responding, his hands slipping up under the back of my shirt. But it was. This was where I belonged, no secrets, no dark pasts, no false names. It was easy, familiar, comfortable. And I _wanted_ it.

"You couldn't be more wrong, my lord," I murmured before placing my lips at the corner of his mouth, tempting him to kiss me back. He noticed my wry smile and chuckled to himself before finally kissing me on the lips, gently, sweetly. It only lasted a few seconds before he broke it and protested,

"I'm not your lord anymore."

**0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0**

Unlike the first time, I did not wake up alone. Blinking dazedly, I smiled as I felt the arm draped loosely under my shoulders. Gone was the feeling of shame, and in its place was only comfort. He was still asleep, amazingly enough, and I was fascinated by his relaxed face, unbothered by anything. There was no scowl, no sneer, no proud smirk, but a faint smile just like my own. His hair was messy, the styling charm he favored causing it to spike up in odd directions, and I reached my hand up to smooth the bristles down, careful not to nudge him awake. Even so, he sighed and burrowed his cheek into the pillow beneath him.

Thankful that today was a Saturday, I snuggled back up against him, imagining once again what it would have been like to have a perfectly normal family. I'd already ruined that chance by lying to Roderick about who his father was, but with Tom beside me the dream was tangible to a degree. I could see Friday nights at the movies, the three of us, with Roderick stealing popcorn from me and Tom chuckling as I yelped at the scary parts, but nonetheless wrapping his arm around my shoulders to comfort me. Sunday mornings we would all eat breakfast in the kitchen, reading the Sunday Prophet, the sports section abandoned on the tiled floor.

Tom stirred, curling his toes and stretching his arms, though not letting go of our fragile embrace. I feigned sleep as he opened his eyes, once again red as their concealment charm had faded overnight, and rested my cheek against his shoulder, feeling so tired. I accepted the fact that he would probably leave now, go back to his normal life, but he never moved to get up. He pushed a few locks of my hair out of my face and tucked them behind my ear before cupping my chin in his hand. I let him move my head like a rag doll, tilting me up so that he could examine my face. I purred quietly, though didn't break my act.

I realized what he was doing as soon as I felt the familiar presence in my mind, light enough so that I would sleep right through it. He was using Legimency on me, and although this would normally infuriate me, I was too pleased to protest as he drew up memories of Roderick. The sight of Roderick crying as he fell of his bike, the disastrous green walls incident, and of the terrifying plate breaking accident. Then more recently, of our son smirking arrogantly as he levitated our kitchen table wandlessly. Of him twirling the locket between his fingers on his eleventh birthday. Of him disappearing into the crowd at platform 9 ¾. It bothered me, but I did nothing.

But then I saw myself sitting up in bed the night Draco had come, crying my heart out. My eyes flew open as I gasped for air and forced him out of my mind. His blood red orbs blinked calmly back at me, obviously not embarrassed. He smiled delicately before kissing my on the forehead and murmuring,

"Sorry to wake you." Miffed, I glared at him, but nonetheless kissed his bare shoulder and whispered, my voice hoarse,

"Don't worry about it." He seemed pleased, and let go of me momentarily to reach down and pull my red quilt over us. I snuggled against him gratefully, noticing the chill in the air. He didn't push me away. "I wasn't expecting you to stay," I murmured, closing my eyes. "You didn't before."

He stiffened, wrapping his arms around me as if to prove he wasn't leaving. Even so, he asked unwillingly, "Would you like me to leave?"

I smiled, my fingers sliding up his chest to lightly tweak his nipple. He started, twitching, and I giggled softly into his shoulder before saying, "No, I'm glad." It made it seem real.

Tom chuckled and ruffled my hair before catching my lips with a warm, loving kiss. There was no tension, no awkward pause. It was much different, and it was nice to know that my first time would be left in the past. _Closure_.

"Nice to see you in a good mood," he said, his tone teasing.

My smirk mirrored his as I looked up, tracing my finger down his chest. He moved his hands onto my hips as I moved to straddle his thighs, leaning down to mumble, "I've got a lot more to be happy about."

The following kiss was much less innocent and his fingers slid down my to my thighs, pulling me forward. Likewise I leaned my weight onto his chest, parting my lips to allow his tongue entrance to my mouth.

_-NonoTomgodshitpleaseyesss-_

The thing about Tom was that he was everywhere. Literally, of course, clutching my face, kissing my jaw, nipping my neck. He rolled me over onto my back, slithering down to lave my nipple, his fingers sneaking between my legs. But there was the figurative, and he froze suddenly just as he started to kiss down my stomach. I clutched his chin in my hand, forcing him to look up at me. His eyes were regretful and annoyed, and I frowned as I asked, "What is it?"

Tom sighed and pressed his forehead against my belly button. "Someone's at the door."

I cringed at the chime of the doorbell. He crawled back up to push some of my hair out of my face. "It'll be Blaise and the gang," I realized reluctantly. He watched, disappointed, as I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. I pulled my bathrobe off the back of the bedroom door. He sat up, leaning on his elbow, an alluring picture with his bare muscular chest and my white sheet draped perfectly over the crest of his hips. With a disappointed sigh, I slid the red robe on.

"Can't you just let them sit there?" he growled. Oh, he had a point. But no, I had to face this. Blaise was probably freaked out because of my visitor who happened to know my true identity. Knowing him, he would not come back alone. I shook my head.

"They've got a key. If I don't answer the door, they'll just let themselves in." He rolled his eyes and sank back down, running both his hands through his hair. I grabbed an elastic from a small bowl on top of my dresser, pulling my hair into a rough bun, hoping it would make me look like I had just woken up from a boring night.

"Don't bother, you still look thoroughly shagged," he said smugly, his red eyes sparkling with mirth. I laughed dryly as the doorbell rang again. "Alright, go on then," he added, waving his hand dismissively. With a small smile, I turned away and left the room, closing the door behind me.

The small click brought me back to reality, and the full effect of what I had just done, as well as with whom, struck me like a pack of Opugnoed canaries. Lord Voldemort was lying naked in my bed after having kissed me and held me intimately in a way only a sparse few had before. He was being flirty, considerate, and responsive to my needs. There was something different about him; something remarkable had changed as if overnight. How strange. Not that I was bothered. I felt complete all of a sudden.

"Jane, open the damn door, I need to talk to you!" yelled a feminine voice. Not Blaise. I smiled in relief and flew across the hallway to unbolt the door. When it swung open, it revealed Michelle, one of the twenty-something Ravenclaws Luna had rescued, as well as Terry, Blaise, and Dennis. Blaise still looked furious as if his expression hadn't changed since I had shoved him out of my apartment the previous night. Terry just looked awkward, Dennis concerned, and Michelle was completely thrilled. Terry immediately blushed a deep red upon seeing me in my bathrobe, while Blaise continued to scowl and Dennis smiled. Michelle just laughed and threw her arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug, her short, shaggy blond hair fanning out.

Michelle was the life of the group, in all honesty. Like me, she was Muggleborn, but unlike me, she had been young and relatively protected from major danger during the Great War because of her neutral house. While her two friends, Debbie and Susan, had just been glad to get out of London, Michelle was jubilant that she was in New York. She was spunky, beautiful, and ridiculously funny, and quickly found a job with a publishing house, working in advertising.

She pulled back quickly, her hands on my shoulders as she pushed me backwards to inspect me. I tried not to grin shamelessly at the fact that _**I**_ had just had a massive shagathon. But it was no use, she knew me too well, and instantly she was smiling brilliantly, before exclaiming,

"Janey got laid!" Terry coughed, choking on his gum. Even though it had been years since we had dated, I knew he still felt protective of me. Dennis laughed warmly, always cheerful, and simply removed his coat. Blaise looked murderous and cast an anxious glace at my closed bedroom door. I slapped Michelle on her arm, unable to be upset.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, though I was smirking. Blaise nudged her out of the way, however, and interrupted soon enough.

"Who was that man from last night and _**how**_ do you know him?" he snarled immediately. If I hadn't been friends with Draco for three years, I would have been unable to keep my face blank and not step backwards. The two were similar in many ways, a fact that did not surprise me. Instead I watched him levelly, automatically resorting to my method of partial truths.

Crossing my arms protectively over my chest, I said calmly, "He's an old friend." Blaise's glare kept me talking. "I lived with Tom before I moved to the city."

"Am I correct in assuming he's Roderick's father?" I nodded resolutely. Quick and moderately painless, like pulling off a band-aid. They bristled. "Meaning you lied to us about Ron?" he continued.

Straightening my posture, I nodded again. "I never saw Ron after the final battle," I said stiffly.

Blaise's upper lip curled. I felt bad for hurting them, snatching away the idea of perfection they had of me, but it was due time that the truth came out.

"And why has it taken you so long to reveal this to us?" Hmm. Very good question, Blaise. I grazed my lower lip with my teeth, wondering what I could say.

"I knew you would never understand," I pronounced simply, not accusatory, just the truth. He froze, his face slowly changing to one of shock and guilt. Dennis' smile had long since disappeared, Terry suddenly seemed nauseated, and Michelle had sunken onto the bench that ran along the hallway.

Blaise appeared to be the leader of the group, and it almost was the climax of an argument that had been growing for years. He stepped forward, his face pale, and placed his hands on my shoulders, before asking softly, "Did he rape you?"

These four words broke my heart, because I had been trying to ignore them for years. I had defended Tom, over and over again, while other times I had hated him as well. I stared openly into his eyes, disturbed by the mere idea. No. _No_. Only a second ago, hadn't I been alarmingly peaceful? Hadn't I?

Then I realized it, as stupid, wounding, and horrible as it was, I was in love with Tom. Or at least the idea of him as he was right now, caring, witty, everything I knew. How do you tell a friend that? I hadn't been raped, I had been _fooled_. Tricked into falling slowly in love with my savior, my captor, only to realize it twelve years later. And it was still happening! Wasn't he still in my apartment?

"Don't be silly, Blaise, of course not." Predictably, he wasn't pleased by my answer; I didn't care.

"Where did you go after the final battle, Mione? No lies, if you can manage it." Then I noticed something, a small crackle of magic breaking out around my fingertips as if tiny sparks jumped between them, a refreshing feeling in all honesty. The type of thrill that I got when reading the thick journals from the Riddle library, the jolt of electricity caused by Roderick's emotion. Dark magic was growing, and I could feel my anger embracing it, welcoming it back. I realized Tom was listening.

"I don't think I can, Blaise, as it doesn't happen to be any of your god damn business." I sneered, my hands grasping the humming globes of energy slowly forming in my palms. His blue eyes widened, not used to my behavior. Poor old Blaise couldn't win this one. This unbeatable feeling of adrenaline was speeding up to my growing raw magic, and my vision hazed as my body struggled to keep up. Pink spots were forming on my face and Michelle looked noticeably concerned, stepping forward. I glared at her, willing her to stay back, stay away.

"Hermione," he started, in full-out fight mode, but I stepped back, the magic growing impatient. I didn't want to hurt him, of course not, but if things kept going the way they were… I was armed, he was not. _Stupefy stupefy stupefy_.

"She's not herself, Blaise, stop," urged Dennis, but to no avail. I smarted, furious, and watched as my best friend prowled forward to stand less than a foot away from me, his face right up in mine. His anger radiated off him in waves, but it was void of all electricity, only a Muggle emotion.

"Stay out of my fucking business and get out of my house before I hex you to hell and back, Blaise," I hissed, meaning it entirely. I watched the hurt and shock spread across his face as I realized it was the first time I'd threatened him with magic. But then the anger returned to his narrowed eyes and before I could even raise my hand to block it, he had slapped me soundly across my left cheek, the snap of skin reaching skin reaching teeth vibrating in the small hallway. I yelped without meaning to, my fingers touching the red area as my tongue darted out to taste blood. Slowly I looked up at Blaise, and found him already seeming apologetic and embarrassed. The three other occupants of the room, however, were looking behind us at my bedroom door, frozen in shock and fear.

"Unless you want to die painfully and slowly alone in Azkaban, you will step away from my wife, Zabini," was the crisp and deadly order from Tom. My eyes widening, I slowly turned around, my hand still over my burning cheek, and saw, with horror, that he had his wand fixed directly at Blaise. He had on his Dark Lord robes, black lined with silver thread, the strangely beautiful serpent clasps sparkling in the light, and his dark trousers and shit both pressed and formal. He looked no more Muggle than the late Albus Dumbledore.

But what I noticed first, as they probably did as well, was that his eyes were their normal ruby red, unglamoured and prominent.

"How do you know who I am?" Blaise snarled back, and I wanted to roll my eyes at his lack of focus. Was that really what was bothering him at the moment? Honestly. It took me a few seconds to notice Tom needling through my mind, sorting through images of Blaise and Caroline, smiling as they wished Roderick happy birthday. He was going in for the kill apparently. I lowered my eyes to the floor.

"I know everything, Zabini, including where your defenseless Muggle girlfriend Caroline lives. East village, all alone, with a bedroom window that she never locks." I ran the tip of my tongue over my teeth, wondering what on earth would happen now that Tom had threatened a man with an equally volatile temper. I remained with my back to my friends, keeping my eyes on Tom's mask of perfect indifference. _I couldn't stay here anymore now that they knew about him._

"Don't you go near her!" My wand was in my dresser, and I had a set of robes in my closet, navy blue. I could go to Salem, Roderick was safe enough at Hogwarts for the time being.

"Why not? You struck my wife, I'll kill your pitiful girlfriend." He was still saying I was his wife. I didn't even want to think of the reason.

"Hermione isn't your wife." This was Terry now, surprising me. I closed my eyes, remembering our dinners together in his apartment, playing with Roderick in Central Park. The relationship hadn't been passionate, just a comfort, a rebound for Terry and loneliness for me. Still, the attachment remained, and he had to be feeling betrayed right now.

"Do I need to show you the papers?" Shit. Shit. What the hell do I do? My magic was still gathering, building up like water behind a dam, and the adrenaline becoming too much for me to handle. I felt my knees begin to buckle, my eyesight fizzing and darkening, zooming in and out as if it were a panning camera.

"Who the hell are you?" I could hear my breathing, loud and scratchy. Tom was still glaring at them, saying something, but I couldn't understand him. My eyes drifted shut, and with one final gasp of air, I lost balance and fell over, unconscious before I hit the floor.

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When I came to, I felt comfortable, really truly comfortable. Not comfortable like I had been as a child in my rose-colored bedroom, cuddling my stuffed teddy bear, or as I had felt resting in Ron's arms on the couch in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room. It was a blank comfort, without sound or stress. I hadn't even known I was stressed until all of a sudden it had disappeared. My eyelids didn't resist opening, my body didn't feel taut and ready to snap, and I actually smelled tea. Real British tea, hazelnut, just as I always use to have before I moved to New York. Smiling, I sat up halfway, supporting my weight on my elbows, and took a look around me.

I was back at home, well, not home anymore but in my old bedroom off the library in the Riddle house. It was just as I had left it all those years ago, everything neat and clean, reeking of quiet and old memories. While normally even the thought of returning to the suite where I had spent my early twenties would make me violently ill, it didn't bother me, and I fought the urge to close my eyes again and go back to sleep. Curiosity took over, and I gripped the edge of the feather duvet, pulling it off me. My eyes widened as I found myself in a silky, though tasteful, nightgown, that only one person would ever wear; Narcissa. Choosing not to infer what this meant in the scheme of things, I swung my legs out of bed and onto the rug-covered floor. It was surreal how nothing was different, not even my reflection in the mirror hanging on the door. Wait a second…

I doubled back, astonished to see my hair long and wavy again, no longer ramrod straight, and instead of being black, now my hair was its normal chestnut brown. It was me I saw in the mirror, not Hermione Weasley, or Jane Matthews, or even Hermione Riddle. Just Hermione Granger, myself, no lies.

The knee-length nighty was also beautiful in its own lacy way, but that wasn't the point. The point was that I was real again. I stroked my finger down the glass, smiling sadly, before turning away. There was a white, shimmering shawl thrown over the stuffed armchair by the door, and I plucked it up and pulled it over my shoulders, before leaving my suite.

The library was just the same, if not bigger. I tiptoed barefoot through the shelves, making sure to visit my favorite dark volumes, gradually making my way to my desk in the center, following the smell of tea. It didn't take me long, no flashbacks forthcoming, and soon I walked into the clearing around my little office, only to freeze temporarily when I found Tom sitting at my desk, the cup of tea by his elbow. He looked up automatically, his red eyes turning a strange mixture of amusement and pleasure. For a second I just stared at him, taking in his black attire and wizarding robes once again as he adjusted to my somewhat revealing outfit. Finally he smirked and gestured to the leather chair across from him, relaxing in his own seat. My eyes never straying from his, I lowered myself into it.

"Do you feel better?" Tom asked quietly, setting down his quill. I nodded, smothering a yawn. He took that as an adequate yes.

"How did I get here?" I asked once my yawn had passed. Parts of the events leading up to my fainting were returning, and an irrational fear was suddenly blooming up inside me. My god, Tom wouldn't have killed my friends, would he? My face paled. "And what happened to Blaise, and Terry and the rest of them?" He quirked his eyebrow at me, taking his time. Finally it seemed he decided to put me out of my misery, and he pushed the cup of tea towards me, answering,

"They're currently going about their day, under the impression you are on a well-deserved vacation in Spain. All memories of myself and your impressive rebellion have been replaced by seeing you off at the airport and going home." He assured me calmly, and I smiled, relieved. I had said a lot of things I shouldn't have, as well as revealed a lot of personal secrets they wouldn't have been able to bear. I took a sip of tea from the antique teacup, recognizing the china now that I had a chance to. Tom jotted something else down on his long scroll of parchment before glancing back up at me. "However, I do believe there is another problem that we must discuss, Hermione, if you are back in good health."

_-PleasepleasenowfuckTomIII-_

I looked down at the light brown liquid; now not so unashamed of my forward behavior from a day or two previous (the date was still unclear to me). I was happy to let some of my wavy hair sweep across my no doubt pink face. Careful to keep my voice steady and light, I responded,

"Oh?" Luckily my nerves didn't come across, and he put his quill back in his inkwell before folding his arms across the desk. Tom looked at me evenly, and I reluctantly met his crimson gaze.

"Roderick and his investigation of Gryffindor Tower," he said emotionlessly. I immediately felt like an absolutely moron. How could I have forgotten? Honestly! That had been the reason for Tom's abrupt reappearance in my life in the first place. Now I really did blush. He must think I'm a _terrible_ mother.

"I'm so sorry Tom, I never thought-," I started in a rush, putting my tea back down on its matching saucer. He held up a slender pale finger, and I hushed immediately. He looked at me imploringly before reassuring me,

"His curiosity and disregard for the rules were to be expected. Do not forget that he is not only your son, and that he has the blood of Salazar Slytherin running through his veins." I gulped, but remained silent. He returned to his work, picking up his quill to put a few more final flourishes on his parchment. Eventually after signing 'L.V.' in his spidery script, he continued, "All the boy needs is a channel for his interest, though I dare say no son of mine will waste his time on Quidditch." He peered up at me through his long eyelashes, no doubt already aware of Roderick's interest in flying. I bit my lip. "Anyway, I need to oversee some new staff members at school and am going to take up temporary residence in the teachers' dorms. It would be a convenient way for us to watch over Roderick's behavior." Two things stuck out. The first was the phrase 'new staff members,' and the second was his use of 'us.' As in _us_, him and I. I blinked.

"Us?" I repeated. He nodded, steepling his fingers.

"Of course. It would be unwise to leave you here unprotected. You need to accompany me." His tone inferred that this was not a discussion; this was him giving me directions. And boy did he have a point. Memories of Lucius Malfoy's leering taunts when I had lived here ten years ago flickered in my mind, and I shivered at the thought of living alone in the library.

But I was going back to Hogwarts? I couldn't. _No_… I _couldn't_ go back there!

"Why?!" I protested, remembering the smell of burning wood and melting asphalt, the shadows creeping in on me as I hid in the potions dungeon. It was simply not possible! And what of Roderick? What would this do to him? Would I be able to prevent him from knowing the truth now? What if I stumbled into him in the hallway? How would I ever explain? Tom pulled me out of my panic.

"You would not leave the suite, other than to perhaps visit other teachers or to read in the library after it closes. The chance of you coming across him would be minimal as long as you're careful." Though in no way pleased, I resigned myself to nodding, pondering the idea. I could see Draco again, as well as Narcissa, who was no doubt living with her husband at Hogwarts. However, there were Slughorn and Snape to consider, who would not make my life easy. Worst of all, Lucius would be there as well.

"Is there no other option?" I asked him in vain. He shook his head. No, there wouldn't be, would there? After all, I could either stay here with the Death Eaters, or go and hide under Tom's protection. Hm… difficult. "Fine," I said, against my better judgement.

He sighed, relieved, and reached across the desk for a small jar of liquid green wax and a stamp. Folding the parchment over and pouring the wax over the lip, he said, "Good. We will leave tomorrow by floo powder to decrease the risk of you being recognized." He suddenly punched the stamp down on the spilled wax, his swift movement causing me to jump slightly, and he studied the perfect seal left behind. "Tonight I can get our marriage license down to the Ministry and double back to hush up the Daily Prophet." My eyes widened at the word 'marriage' and my fingers flew to my throat, although it had not held the locket for several months. Tom opened a drawer and retrieved a small packet of crisp paper.

"Marriage license?" I whispered, although this rang bells. Before I had left all those years ago, hadn't he said something about marrying me as a safety measure? And now that I was back, it was necessary again.

"Yes, a marriage license to ensure you respect at Hogwarts." He smirked as he turned the papers to face me and pointed to the inkwell. With a slight note of arrogance, he added, "I do believe Hermione Riddle has a nice ring to it. I was always partial to formalities like the woman taking her husband's name." I eyed the license warily, recalling his argument clearly. Nausea rose within me as I considered his proposal. Not the most romantic thing in the world, but what else would you expect from the Dark Lord of Europe? In all honesty, it wasn't really even a marriage proposal. It was swearing loyalty to him, just without the Dark Mark. If I were to sign on the dotted line, I could never leave his side. He would make sure I really was Hermione Riddle in every sense of the name. I looked back at Tom, caught between two options, two very different ideas. Remaining as a lie, and yet myself, or as a different lie, as another part of myself. Neither would make me happy. But there was one other person who was very important, whose future I was forgetting. This would effect the entire course of Roderick's life, it would either help or hurt him most of all. So, with a sigh, I reached out and plucked the quill from the inkwell and lowered its tip to the page, before slowly carving out each letter, as if every time I temporarily removed it I could change my mind. But soon enough, I had written '_Hermione Granger'_ for the last time.

Tom smiled when I handed it back to him, and for a second, just a second, the thought that everything would end up okay crossed my mind. Soon enough, it was gone.

"Oh!" he said suddenly, before pulling open the draw yet again. Then, still smiling lightly, he set a small black velvet box on the mahogany desk, appearing soft when surrounded by the hectic tabletop. I didn't need to ask what was in it. As I stared at it, unsure of what to think, he added, "I figured you would want this. I know this isn't a proper, romantic proposal, not your dream by far I'm sure, but this seems necessary." He nudged it closer to me, before settling back into his chair. It was obvious that he wanted me to open it, so I reluctantly took it and did so; a small gold ring with a cracked onyx gem resting in the center confined in the velvet cushioning. The Gaunt ring, I assumed. Another horcrux. Lovely.

"Thank you," I managed to say, before pulling it out and slipping it on. It fit, of course. He nodded, whisking away the empty box. Then he rose up out of his seat, pulling a wand out of his pocket. With my first real smile of the day, I recognized it as my own. He handed it to me, and my fingers caressed the handle, still familiar after what had to have been months. After all, when Roderick had begun to perform wandless magic, there had been no need for me to do it as well. He could do it all without instruction.

"I must go," he said in parting, banishing his work, before rounding the desk to stand at my side. I stared up at him, very aware of the new heavy weight on my ring finger. "Do not worry, Hermione, you are now the wife of the most powerful man in the world. Nothing can possibly go wrong for you." Famous last words, right? But then he bent down and kissed me, his long fingers cupping my chin, and my mind went blank.

And then he was gone, his cold kiss lingering on my lips.

I spent the rest of the day just relaxing. For once there was nothing I needed to do, no sale pending or shelves needing to be stocked. My business partner Alex would be able to manage the store for now, and I didn't want to write Roderick until he himself told me what had happened in Gryffindor Tower. He would have to take the fall for his actions. Instead I went back to my bedroom, wondering if I would be able to find any of the clothing I had left behind. The closet was a fraction of its old self, but several warm robes clung to hangers. Still adjusting to all of this familiarity, I tugged a purple robe towards me, the soft fabric making me smile. I draped it over my shoulders, before continuing to dig through the closet. My undaunted mood shattered as something else caught my eye. The small black robe of simple wool and cotton was on the back of the rack, hidden behind a winter coat. It was not hard to guess what it was, and I remembered placing it there on my first night here.

My Head Girl robe served as a wakeup call, reminding me that I wasn't in New York City anymore. I closed the doors of my closet and changed into the purple robe and dress set, once again on my guard.

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I packed what little clothing I had left in the trunk left under my bed, leaving my Head Girl robe untouched in my closet. Then I went out to the library, dragging my trunk behind me, hesitant to levitate it just because I hadn't done magic for so long. There I tucked away a few books, my old favorites. It wouldn't be long before Tom came to escort me to my new home at Hogwarts, and fear and dread were gathering in the bottom of my stomach. There would be so many demons for me to face once I got there, and I sat at my desk, dreading the opening of the door.

However, time has a way of speeding up when you least want it to, and soon enough my new husband turned the corner around the end of the bookcase, holding a small, ornate, silver box about the size of a ring box. I watched it nervously, fearing some other unexpected proposal, but stood and readied myself for his greeting. He kissed me swiftly on the cheek before taking my hand, his fingers brushing my new ring in the process. This lit up a smirk on his face as he turned to lead me back to my bedroom, which was most likely the fireplace we would be using.

Looking over my shoulder at my luggage, I asked, "What about my things?"

He answered, "They'll be taken care of."

I frowned, gulping as he eased open my bedroom door with his elbow, still holding the small silver box. We stopped in front of the fireplace and he let go of my hand, which I clutched to my breast for some type of relief. I would be seeing Draco soon, I reminded myself in an effort to calm down. That would be refreshing. Tom opened the lid carefully, and I sighed in relief when I saw it stored floo powder. His smirk faded to a relaxed smile as he took out a pinch before handing it to me. Following his lead, I dipped a few fingers in and took out a tiny handful. Then he snapped the box shut and slipped it into his robes.

"Just say loudly and clearly 'Lord Voldemort's Suite at Hogwarts' and you'll end up in our living room," he instructed, gesturing for me to go first. As pessimistic as the idea was, he was making sure I wouldn't back out. I swallowed before stepping forward towards the grate, very aware of his bright eyes on my back. Nothing could hurt me, I reminded myself as I tossed the floo powder into the fire, the flames spitting tendrils into the air as it flashed green. I was not weak, no longer some little girl who could be used and taken advantage of. I had made this decision. I was the wife of the most powerful man in the world.

"Lord Voldemort's Suite at Hogwarts," I pronounced with stunning clarity, before walking forward, my heels clicking on the stone lining the fireplace. Then I stepped into the flames.

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**A/N: Wow. Huge fucking chapter, eh? Almost 8,000 words! That's the longest chapter I've ever written, EVER. Damn straight.**

**Next up on Weak**: _'I would protect my family, the way he hadn't protected mine.'_

**Short chapter next. Sorry. Review!**

**Final Word Count: 7989**


	14. Recognition

**A/N: Small chapter this time. It's Roderick, and he doesn't have much to say. Last we left him, he got busted coming out of Gryffindor Tower by Snape. Poor guy. Anyway, we now know that Hermione and Tom are both at Hogwarts, and this is the last time we see Roderick for a while. Hermione has her own mess to solve. But until then, remember the fact that Harry's a ghost, and that Tom's motives are still pretty unclear.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or Hermione Granger, or Tom Riddle. However, I do own Roderick, and I will smack you if you steal him from me.**

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**Chapter 14: Recognition**

In the end I received a month of detentions each weeknight with Professor Snape, doing assorted chores in his classroom, and a stern warning from Lucius Malfoy himself. He was a stunningly intimidating man, freakishly beautiful with long, elegant, blond hair that dripped over his shoulders to glide over the back of his chair. I couldn't say he was handsome, because he wasn't really. His sharp angular features would no longer entice a woman, especially because he was at least sixty, but he was definitely beautiful. His expression and tone were undeniably patronizing, and I had spent my ten minutes in his office in a mix of awe at his power and appearance, and scared beyond belief that he would unpredictably hex me.

When he had finally granted me exit from his office, it was late and I was dumbfounded. I was so _screwed_. He said he would be informing my mother of my infraction. As I curled up in bed I considered what this would mean for us. It was doubtful that they would attempt to inform her in person, and an owl was more likely. Our location would remain a secret, as an owl would find the person, not the address on the envelope, but what I feared was _her_ reaction. I was no longer under the radar, never had been to be honest, and what she would do scared me, because I didn't _know_ what she would do. Pull me out of school? Make us move? Disown me? Nothing? No, she would do something, how could she not? She would be furious, the ultimate Hermione Granger Mega Madness Meltdown as Terry used to teasingly call it. I was hardly ever on the receiving end of her temper, but when I had been, it wasn't pleasant. Bloody hell, she was going to kill me! I cringed at the possible howlers she could send.

Should I write her? Well, what could I say? That I'd met the ghost of her dead best friend, Harry Potter, who claimed she was dead as well? No. Then she'd definitely bring me home. I didn't want to go back. Well, I'd see what her reaction was first, and then respond accordingly.

Classes were awkward. No students knew of my little transgression, but the teachers did of course, and they all judged me for it. Slughorn gave me a saccharinely sympathetic smile during potions and moved to speak to me after class, but I forced the oblivious Megan to ask him for an explanation of an ingredient in the Engorging Solution. In Dark Arts, Snape was just as cruel and snarky as ever, and he lectured about basic dueling instead of a practical lesson, though he managed to glare at me at every opportunity. He was probably just annoyed by the fact that I hadn't been expelled, as he had most likely wanted. Charms was the worst though; Professor Malfoy wasn't mad at all, just disappointed. He avoided me, pretending that he didn't notice me in class. I hung back to talk to him on the first day of classes after I got caught, but he ducked out of the classroom and into his office. Disappointed, I didn't try again.

But soon I was no longer able to worry about my teacher's opinions of me, because I began to realize that their opinion was already made. Slughorn sucked up to me and treated me well because of my father and my talent. Snape hated me because of my mother and my lack of fear for him. Professor Malfoy watched me because he feared what I could do and still harbored feelings for my mother. Lucius Malfoy treated me the way someone would treat a hyper puppy, cuddle it and threaten it just a tad so that it behaved and wouldn't run away. Knowing this made it obvious that I wasn't exactly free at Hogwarts; I was just as watched as I was at home. I had gone from one fishbowl to another. However, this could only get worse.

I woke up early on the second Monday I was to have detention. The morning started out normally; I dressed in my robes and swept out of the boy's dorm before any of the other boys in my year had even woken up. As was custom, I walked down the spiral staircase to the common room and found Megan waiting for me as she had been since she'd learned I woke early. We walked down to the Great Hall together and I read the Daily Prophet as she received mail from her parents and commented on quidditch. The rest of Slytherin filled in the table around the two of us, and eventually the staff table did the same as teachers drifted in and out. Snape never ate breakfast in the Great Hall, and I was relieved to see that this hadn't changed. But in his customary chair next to Lucius Malfoy sat another man. From the distance between us I could not get a good look at him, though I could register that he had dark hair and donned a fancy pair of black wizarding robes with ornate silver clasps that caught he light.

I noted his sudden appearance in Hogwarts, but didn't think much of it. His presence was not announced by the Headmaster, and I forgot about the stranger because of a particularly dramatic and grueling Dark Arts lesson in which Snape managed to jinx me when I wasn't paying attention. I scowled deeply for the better part of the morning, recalling how I had tripped on air on my way out of the classroom. I ate lunch in the kitchen on my own, still mortified.

I was eating my dinner, avoiding looking at the Staff table in case Snape chose to gloat over his minor victory, when it happened. Megan was sitting closely at my side, not quite sure what was wrong but willing to help in any way she could. Megan was a loyal friend who followed me no questions asked, though I was careful to make sure I didn't confide anything valuable in her. She harbored a small crush on me, I could tell, but if a crisis occurred and she had to choose between her family or me, I knew I was second priority. For now I ignored her interest in me romantically, expecting it to fade quickly. For now I was grateful for her support and sent her a thankful smile. The blond blushed and knocked over her goblet.

"Students, may I have your attention," the Headmaster announced, and I twisted around on the bench to watch as he stood up, his long hair shimmering spectrally in the candlelight. Conversation ceased immediately at the three house tables, and I allowed myself to observe the other occupants of the staff table. Professor Snape was sitting in his usual chair, though seated between him and the Headmaster was the stranger from breakfast. The man was elegantly cutting his steak with his cutlery, his slender fingers gently clutching the silver. Once again I could not get a clear look at his face because he was looking down. Lucius resumed his speech.

"I am honored to announce that a friend of mine shall be staying at Hogwarts with us to observe your classes. Please treat Master Riddle-," my eyes snapped once again to the man looking down, whose eating had not halted. Riddle. I glanced at Professor Malfoy to find him studying me carefully. Our eyes met and he frowned apologetically before looking down at his meal. "As if he were a member of the staff, and I advise that you respect him, as he has the power to distribute punishments just like any staff member. If your behavior reflects poorly on myself or the school, I will have no qualms ordering you to pack your bags and board the Hogwarts Express." This man was my father, and he was here! I could deal with having my instructors aware of my parentage, but if the students figured it out as well, as they no doubt would, everything my mother and I had worked for would be destroyed. Thankfully father was using his birth name and not his actual title of Lord Voldemort, plus he was not the serpant-esque man I had been expecting. At least if people knew who my father was, they wouldn't realize he was the cruel ruler of Europe.

Once again I wished I knew more about the circumstance of my conception. If I were a rape child and my mother escaped, then my presence at Hogwarts would put her in danger. Not only her, I reminded myself, but also Denis, Blaise, Luna, Terry and the others. If my parents had had some type of fling, as unlikely as that was, then perhaps he wouldn't bother us. I would have to cling to that unlikely hope.

Lucius Malfoy sat back down and gradually students resumed their conversation. Megan asked me something but I paid her no mind, continuing to stare at 'Master Riddle.' She reluctantly turned away and struck up a conversation with Austin Flint, while I studied my father. As if feeling my eyes on his face, he looked up at me, his expression blank. The similarities between us were startling, and though no recognition could be seen on his face, I knew in that instant that he knew exactly who I was. The locket hummed under my shirt, warm and soothing, but it did nothing to calm my buzzing nerves. Shaken, I grabbed the strap of my book bag and leapt off the bench before turning my back on my father and bolting from the hall.

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So he was here. So what? Didn't matter. He would leave eventually. He wouldn't bother me because he would never want the world to know that he had a son with a muggleborn witch. If he approached me I would threaten to expose him. If he revealed who I was I _would_ expose him. I would get home somehow, fly for days across the Atlantic Ocean if I had to, sneak into Snape's office and use the floo network, blackmail Professor Malfoy into apparating me, _anything_. I would protect my family the way he hadn't protected us. Nothing would change that.

I spent that night in the library looking up hexes. The Restricted Section was unguarded as always, and I pilfered book after book, memorizing curse after curse. The Dark Arts poisoned people, mum warned me, but I knew this was worth it. I would be careful; I wouldn't be taken over. This was necessary. I committed a few potions from Moste Potente Potions to memory. It was necessary. I didn't sleep at all. It was necessary.

Sleep would have done me good, I knew that. I felt the effects of sleep deprivation, imagining shadows among the shelves. I could feel someone watching me but whenever I turned around there was no one there. It was all in my head.

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**A/N: Short chapter, I know. But I'm going back to Hermione next chapter. And she has a while.**

**Anyway, thoughts? I had to show that Tom was out and about around the castle, and that Roderick is far more in the loop than either Tom or Hermione realize. And as for the dark magic, I know you all will be freaked by Roderick's experimentation, but don't worry. Little Rick won't be completely possessed and freaked out, but he'll get himself into a little trouble down the line.**

**So as I said, we're going back to Hermione next chapter, and we'll stick with her for a while. You can look forward to: Narcissa being wise and funny, Draco being pathetic and depressing, Hermione getting drunk, Tom being snarky and emotional, and Myrtle being smug. So it's all fun. Teaser? I'll give you a few, since I gave you such a small chapter.**

"_Look, cheer up. You're back where you belong, with us, and everything's going to be fine."_

**And…**

"_Oh Merlin," he breathed, turning around to face me. His eyes were accusing and jealous. "You love him, don't you?" I gasped but he continued before I could deny it. "He's got you fooled, hasn't he?"_

**One more, because I'm so nice.**

"_Hermione," he started, his voice soft and loving. "I made you my responsibility. I wouldn't have it any other way."_

**Hehehe. This is my favorite fanfic ever. I love it more than Magnetic Attraction and Where White Meets Black and everything else. Review! I'd love to get to 500 one of these days.**

**Word Count: 2218**


	15. Relationships

A/N: Back to Hermione

**A/N: Back to Hermione. Yup. She's a lot more exciting. Anyway, I'm glad you're all enjoying this fic so far. I've gotten quite a few flames, but as long as some people are enjoying this fic, I'll keep writing. I'd like to get to 500 reviews by the time I finish this fic, however far in the future that may be.**

**This is a huge chapter, mainly because I wanted to update and I'm not sure how long it'll be before I get another chance. I haven't written anything past this point, so it may be ages.**

**So, final words, I know that with Deathly Hallows showing Narcissa as a Death Eater along side of her family, my version of Narcissa will seem completely OOC. I wrote this chapter ages ago in a notebook, so yeah. Um… She's cool though.**

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**Chapter 15: Relationships**

We flooed to Hogwarts that afternoon, and I left the fortress with a mild feeling of dread. I wasn't scared, per say, because on a logical level I had little to be afraid of; Roderick wouldn't see me if I was careful, and Tom was right when he said my new status as his wife would protect me. No one could hurt me in any way, unless they wanted to face his fury. It was the silver lining to my sudden marriage. Roderick would be safe too.

Roderick was the only thing in the world that mattered. I had sacrificed my privacy in order for him to be educated at Hogwarts, I had found myself once again in contact with the wizarding world because of his trouble making, and now I was married to the Dark Lord who had killed my family and friends just to ensure his protection! But it wasn't his fault that I had slept with Tom twice. It wasn't his fault that I had sold my soul to Tom twelve years ago by taking his hand when I was defenseless and scared.

The suite at Hogwarts was nice though. I mean, it wasn't my ideal apartment, but it had a nice little study with three walls covered by bookshelves that housed sections of the library from the fortress. Tom said he would use it as his office but that I was welcome to share it. There was a bedroom with a king sized bed that was draped in silk curtains and sheets of varying shades of silver. Upon seeing my nervous expression at the thought of a single bed, he told me he wouldn't be doing much sleeping. There was also a small kitchen that was really just a table with place settings for two, and a fancy living room with an ornate fireplace and several plush green sofas. The entire suite reeked of Slytherin taste, but it wasn't as nauseating as I imagined Lucius Malfoy's had to be.

After escorting me to the apartment, Tom swept off, saying he had work to take care of. Once he was gone I found myself at a loss as to what to do with my time. I spent a good three hours reading a nonfiction novel about magic in its raw form, thinking I could learn more about what had happened to me when Blaise and I had fought. The subject eventually lost its novelty and I spent a good hour and a half bewitching things in the room just to get some energy out. When a candlestick collided with a stack of parchment on Tom's desk and nearly set fire to the entire suite, I decided it was time I went and found someone to talk to.

Tom hadn't forbidden me from leaving by any means, but had warned me not to wander about in public. Heeding his advice, I decided to experiment with floo powder and see who I could find. The first person who came to mind was Narcissa.

"Narcissa Malfoy's suite at Hogwarts," I enunciated into the flames, attempting to not get ash on my nice pair of dark purple roves. I had always hated floo transport, it was so messy and bad for your knees. I shifted my weight from leg to leg as I knelt on the stone, watching as an empty living room similar to mine came into view. "Cissa?" I called out anxiously, fearing that she wasn't there. I waited awkwardly for some sort of response.

"Who is it?" she yelled back, her voice wafting down the hall. I smiled at the familiar purebred drawl that was endearing on Draco and Narcissa. I didn't think about Blaise.

"It's Hermione! May I come in? My knees are smarting!" Her laugh responded and I felt so relieved to know that I wasn't the only wife in this castle.

"Of course, darling! I'll be right in, I'm spelling my gray hair out." I smirked as I levered myself out of the fireplace and tried to cross the room without trailing soot on the carpet. As I waited for her to finish, I stared around myself at the pictures and paintings on the walls, recognizing several of Draco in his Hogwarts and quidditch uniforms. Over the fireplace was a painted family portrait that had to have been taken recently, with Narcissa sitting in a throne-like chair and Lucius and Draco standing beside her, each with one hand on her shoulder. Draco looked jaded and sad, and I wondered what on earth had happened to make him age so much in only a decade. He was still handsome though, and I wondered when I would go visit him.

"I've got a picture of you and Roderick somewhere around here," Narcissa said as he entered the room. I smiled as she pulled me into a tight hug, pressing her face into my shoulder.

"Oh Cissa, I've missed you," I whispered as she pulled away. I wasn't surprised that she still looked young even though she had to be at least fifty.

"Merlin, you're a grown woman now, look at you. The last time I saw you, you were a little thing forced to behave like an adult."

"But you haven't aged at all," I commended wryly, sitting down on a lounge chair. She eased herself onto the couch, rolling her eyes.

"I'm old, dear, and that's the truth." But he smiled and changed the subject. "How are you? It must be a shock to be back in this horrid place." I shrugged and shook my head.

"That's not really what's shocking," I said honestly, "It's knowing that I'm the wife of the most powerful man in the world that's shocking." To say her jaw dropped would be an understatement. "Our lord says it's for my protection, but I'm not sure what to make of it." Narcissa floundered for something to say before settling on,

"Do you love him?" Ouch. Next question please.

"I love who he is with me, but not who he is other wise," I said vaguely, and she frowned, staring at her family portrait above the fireplace.

"That's who I sometimes feel about Lucius. He's a right old bastard with his Death Eater nonsense, but he can be quite sweet to me. Honestly, why do men feel murder and power so appealing?" I laughed.

"I think that Bellatrix would disagree," I jested and she winced at the mention of her violent sister.

"Well Bellatrix is a few knuts short of a sickle. A few months ago she tried to seduce Draco, her own nephew! Apparently he asked her, 'Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson?' but she didn't get the joke." My attention grew as she mentioned Draco, and I asked,

"How is he?"

"A little scarred, she _is_ a blood relative."

"No, how has he been since I left?"

"Oh." She paused, collecting her words. I noted that she avoided my eyes. "I'll be honest with you dear, he took it hard. Draco loves you and he missed you all the time. We all did. But he understands why you had to leave." Of course Draco would understand, he was nice and responsible. I missed that about him. "You didn't belong in the fortress, it wasn't the right place for you."

"New York wasn't the right place for me either. My whole life there was a lie." Her eyes lit up.

"You were in New York? I hear they have a great fashion there!"

"Cissa, focus. Me. Remember?"

"Oh fine. Look, cheer up. You're back where you belong –with us- and everything's going to be fine." I hoped I could believe her.

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Tom didn't come back until it was late, in the early hours of Tuesday morning. He seemed exhausted, a scowl set on his face that could make even the late Bill Weasley pee his tight little pants. I was fading, equally tired, but had forced myself to stay awake for his return. I lay down on the couch, my head resting lightly on a large stuffed pillow, and watched as the far wall of the living room dissolved into the hallway, and he entered. He ignored me, already annoyed.

"Why are you still awake?" He went straight into the bedroom, but I didn't move. Closing my eyes, I said evenly,

"Wrong. I do believe your line is 'Honey, I'm home!'" There was no responding smirk or snicker, only the dull thud of dresser drawers opening and shutting in the next room. "And then I say, 'Hello darling, how was your day? Dinner's almost ready and your laundry is all pressed and folded!'" He re-entered the room, half dressed with his red eyes blazing. His charcoal trousers slung low on his hips, and his shirtless chest was just as pale as his face. Again I didn't flinch, my face blank as his contorted into a nasty snarl.

"I don't have the energy to deal with a hissy fit, Hermione." Well he would just have to deal with it, because I didn't feel like playing Holly Housewife. My peaceful dinner with Narcissa had been interrupted by Lucius striding into her rooms like he owned them, which, I suppose, he did. After bearing a few snide remarks about my poor parenting skills I left and moped on the sofa. I hadn't moved since, with a bottle of elf-made wine to keep me company.

"Oh but dear husband, you chose to marry me, didn't you? You loved me enough to promise to remain with me as long as we both shall live. Not that you can _die_, of course." Lack of sleep always made me cranky, not that he could know that. His jaw clenched and I rolled my eyes as he strode across the room, knowing better than to fear him. I was surprised, however, when he scooped his arms underneath me and lifted me off the couch roughly. "Gonna carry me over the threshold, baby?" I crooned, slurring my words, but I leant my head against his bare chest and didn't put up a fight, feeling like lead.

"You're drunk, Hermione," he hissed, kicking the door to the bedroom open wider. "You're going to go to sleep and when you wake up, you and I are going to have a civilized chat." To punctuate his speech, he dropped me on one side of the soft bed. I melted into the covers and closed my eyes again to stop the room from circling around me. The world tilted, though I knew it was only Tom getting into bed. He snuffed the few candles in the room and rolled over, his back to me.

"You tricked me, you fooled me!" I moaned, shivering in my delicate dress. He groaned in frustration, sitting up to glare at me.

"I swear I am this close to shoving you off this bed," he threatened.

"You seduced me! You blackmailed me! I hate you, I hate myself, I need my baby, my Rick! What have you done to him!" He winced, my drunken wails affecting him somehow. I was falling and I couldn't see. Where was I? Hogwarts was burning, my skin was on fire, Ron, help me! Please, Harry's dead. They killed him and Ginny oh Ginny's gone too! Everyone's dead, it's just us! And I never freed the elves, poor things. Will you join SPEW? Please, Harry? I made badges and everything, see? And oh, I've got a date with Krum! Can you believe it? But don't tell the boys, they'll ruin everything, they'll ruin it. They made me cry, and that Ronald Weasley, he's the worst, but he's just jealous of me. He's just jealous.

Arms circled around my waist and I pressed my face against the chest in front of me, tears falling. And then I was out.

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I woke up with no memory of what I had done the previous night. I was still dressed, had a hangover equal to any that Fred or George Weasley could have ever suffered, and a salty face. These three things could only mean one thing, I'd had another drunken nervous breakdown. Already blushing at the thought of what Tom could have seen, I eased myself out of bed and pulled off my wrinkled dress from yesterday to change into a faded terry-cloth robe that I recognized from my apartment. Then I slowly opened the door to my living room, and found my husband sipping tea in an armchair, devoid of emotion.

"Good, you're awake," he said crisply, gesturing to the sofa across from him. I felt like a student about to be lectured by the headmaster.

"What on earth happened last night?" I groaned, leaning the back of my head against the soft cushions.

"You polished off an entire bottle of very strong elf-made wine by yourself and had a chain of flashbacks, rambling about Hogwarts being on fire and your feelings for the _youngest male Weasley_." His voice was bitter, sneering on his last three words. I winced, imagining spilling my heart out to him without realizing what was appropriate for him to know. "And then you passed out."

"To my defense, this never happens," I protested, but he held up a hand to silence me. It was clear that he didn't want excuses.

"Do you ever drink in front of Roderick?" he asked, and I immediately knew why he wanted to know. Offended, I snarled,

"I have always been a responsible mother! I have always put Roderick first, ever since he was born! How dare you accuse me of getting drunk around him?" His serious demeanor softened.

"I didn't mean to insult you. Seeing you like that last night worried me and I wanted to make sure that Roderick had never been in the same position." He spoke in a soothing tone that I was already very well acquainted with, and I wondered why I was so easily manipulated by him if I was as strong as everyone said I was.

"It won't happen again," I promised, more to myself than to him. I didn't want to have him see me in such a vulnerable position. I didn't want _anybody_ to see me in such a vulnerable position. He seemed to believe me and stood up.

"It's around one in the afternoon." I reddened. I had slept all morning? "Draco has no classes after lunch. Why don't you go visit him? See if you can make yourself feel more comfortable here." I felt a little patronized by his wording but liked the idea nonetheless. "I have business to attend to."

"You always say that," I said without thinking. He was moving about the room now, pulling his cloak out of a closet in the kitchenette. "What do you do during the day?" Tom swung the cloak over his shoulders and walked towards the wall that would open to the outside hallway. Just before he left, he turned and said

"I keep our son safe." Before I could ask what he meant, he was gone.

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Draco wasn't in his office when I arrived that afternoon, so I sat down in a chair across from his desk and decided to wait, seeing as I had little else to do. I had been in most of the offices of my professors during my time at Hogwarts, and each professor had found a way to make this office their own. Lupin had filled his with fantastic animals, which he would later use during lessons. Lockhart had mounted pictures and paintings of himself on every flat surface. Imposter Mad-Eye Moody had stuffed it with dark detectors and dangerous artifacts that went along with the curriculum he had invented himself. Draco followed their lead and did the same, choosing to hang posters of famous wizards along the walls, most of them life sized.

I stared around the room, watching the inhabitants of the posters walk into each others frames and talk with one another. A detailed painting of Merlin was chatting on a stage next to a cocky William Shakespeare, while opposite them Newt Scamander stroked the snout of a thestral as he conversed politely with Abraxas Malfoy, Draco's grandfather. Upon twisting around in my chair I came face to face with a picture of myself, standing next to Ron and Harry. There were no words to describe how shocked I was to see my younger self in red and gold robes among the most legendary wizards in history when for all my life I couldn't think of one good reason why I should be up there.

Picture me was smiling, listening to her two best friends chatter away. She was silent but she seemed so happy to be in between them. She was right where she was supposed to be. Home.

"Hermione?" Draco's voice jolted me out of my revere. I hadn't noticed him enter. Shaking myself back to attention, I stood up and turned to face him, the image of myself in sparkling Gryffindor robes quickly replaced by Draco and his nervous smile. He didn't look much different than he had when he'd come to see me in my New York apartment a few weeks ago, though perhaps he was more tired. His hair was tied back with a neat black chord, revealing his as gaunt and shadowed. He hugged me before I could properly greet him, pulling me tightly against his front as he buried his head into my hair. A little stunned but appreciative of his warm welcome, I closed my eyes and breathed in his comforting, spicy scent. It was tempting to simply never move, to spend the next few hours standing wrapped in his supportive arms. I didn't want to say anything and break the silence. So I didn't.

Eventually, however, Draco pulled away, blushing as he realized what he had been doing. I smiled and bent up to kiss him on the cheek, tempted to linger near his face. He gulped audibly and quickly said, "I was hoping I would see you soon. Mother told me you were here." For some reason Draco was nervous, fidgeting with the handle of his wand in the pocket of his cloak. I ignored it.

"I got here a few days ago, supposedly for my protection," I said, rolling my yes. It was much easier to be irritated by Tom and his patronizing behavior when I wasn't around him. Draco didn't laugh, perhaps knowing that I really _was_ here for protection. He changed the subject.

"Here, let's sit down." Taking my hand, he led me over to a worn leather sofa underneath a poster of Gellert Grindelwald. His fingers lingered over mine but he folded his hands in his lap after a few seconds. I cleared my throat.

"So how's teaching going?" I asked in an attempt to start a conversation. He latched onto the topic, probably also sensing the awkward silence.

"Well, the kids are exhausting and I hate grading papers, but I can't complain. I like my quarters and I like the freedom that the job has." He relaxed into the cushions, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. "I mean, it's not like the ministry cares what I teach the kids. I can teach them really advanced stuff as long as it's age appropriate and no one gets hurt." He began to smile, and I watched his face light up with pride and passion for his job. "I got this job because my father's headmaster and it was convenient for him to have me around, but this has wound up being something I'm good at." My heart warmed at his happiness. Draco had never been truly good at something; his quidditch skills during school were well honed, but never as good as Harry's, and his grades had always fallen second to mine. However it seemed now he was actually enjoying his job, free from competition.

"I bet the kids love you. Roderick has had only positive things to say about you." He nodded, continuing,

"Rick is fantastic, 'Mione, able to do any spell on the first try, just like you always did." I blushed at his praise, knowing that he had not always approved of my know-it-all behavior when we were young. "He has incredible talent, though that's not a surprise considering who his parents are. He arrived here with more experience and skill than most of the purebloods who grew up around magic. It's a real reflection on you, Hermione, everyone's really impressed by his ability." I scoffed, knowing the staff better than to believe they spoke wonders about me.

"Not bloody likely," I said with a scowl. "Perhaps they're impressed by Roderick but I doubt they admire me very much. Who works here now, Severus? Slughorn? I hear Macnair is teaching Care of Magical Creatures, that's an ironic twist of fate." Draco shrugged sheepishly.

"Well, Severus isn't very fond of you, that'll never really change, but Professor Sinistra is still here and she simply adores you." The Astronomy teacher had always favored me and I was relieved to learn that some of the nice staff from my childhood had found ways to remain at Hogwarts.

"Regardless, I don't like being here. I love seeing you and Cissa, of course, but I can hardly leave my room in case I'm seen by a student. I'm not at home here. I'm not at home _anywhere_." No matter how much time I spent away from Draco, I could go straight back to being his best friend instantly. Being with him now made me feel so much better, and I wasn't at home at Hogwarts anymore, but at least I was with Draco.

"You're always welcome in my rooms," he said warmly, reaching out to grasp my hand. The heat in his eyes made me hesitant, but I gently placed my hand over his. He lifted his free hand to trail his fingers down my cheek. "God, Hermione, I've missed you so much." There was something about his voice, a note of pleading desperation that indicated there was more behind this statement than just companionship. Because for a time there had been more than companionship, and it was clear now that we couldn't ignore our… whatever.

"We can't," I protested, feeling my eyes drift closed. "Draco, you know we can't."

"Why not?" he whined, cupping my face in his hands, kneeling on the sofa in order to face me. He stared at me fiercely, eyes hungry.

"He'd kill you, kill both of us," I said, my resistance waning quickly. Draco grabbed my wrists, jerking me forward.

"What's different now?"

"I'm _married_," I snarled, no longer so tempted. He was desperate now.

"Hermione I lo-,"

"Don't say it!" I cried.

"Love you," he finished, pleading. I was speechless, not sure what to do. _If Tom found out, oh if Tom found out._ "Let's run away together, get away from here! We could leave tonight, leave now!" I shook my head, forcing back tears. "Please, Hermione, please." His hair had escaped from its band and tumbled into his upset face, highlighting his gray complexion. He looked as tortured and ill as Remus Lupin had during the war, and I wondered what he had left anymore. His job? His family? Would he give it all up for me?

"He'd find us and kill us," I said slowly, my voice choked. I continued before he could cut me off, "And then Roderick would have no one."

"We could take him with us, get him away from the Dark Lord."

"He's the boy's father, he should be with him."

"But he's not, is he?" Draco snarled, leaping from the sofa to pace angrily around the room. I winced as I examined my red wrists, knowing I would have bruises there in the morning.

"He's trying, he's here!" I said feebly.

"Oh Merlin," he breathed, turning around to face me. His eyes were accusing and jealous. "You love him, don't you?" I gasped but he continued before I could deny it. "He's got you fooled, hasn't he? You think he loves you but he doesn't _care_, Hermione. You're a _pawn_ and you don't even realize it. He's telling you what you want to hear, can't you see that?" I froze and didn't hear anything else he said. _He's telling you what you want to hear. What you want to hear. Want to hear._

No. Tom hadn't tricked me. I wasn't that stupid as to be fooled again. I knew he didn't love me. I knew exactly what he was. No!

"I have to go," I said numbly, interrupting him mid-rant. He softened immediately, following me as I walked towards the archway that led to the stairs to the Charms classroom.

"Hermione, I'm so sorry, I don't know what made me blow up like that." I did my best to keep my face blank and tried to ignore his quick footsteps behind me.

"I know, Draco," I said tiredly and descended the stairs, gliding my hand down the stone handrail.

"Please, Hermione, hear me out!" I didn't turn and strode to the doorway. "Wait, I'm sorry!" I paused as my hand landed on the doorknob, knowing I couldn't leave like this. Turning, I smiled sadly at my friend as he leant pitifully against a desk, looking devastated.

"It's fine, you said what you had to say." I took a deep breath. "I wish we could be like we used to, but too much has changed. I can't afford to be rash and selfish because I have a son to worry about. We're not twenty anymore, and we need to act like adults. This can't happen." I opened the door.

"I do love you, you know," he said quietly.

"I know." I left, closing the door behind me.

What I quickly figured out, however, was that I didn't actually know where my rooms were. So overcome by frustration, fear, and confusion, I promptly burst into tears. Thankfully, class had already started and the corridor outside of the Charms classroom was empty. Shoulders shaking, I did what any girl going through emotional trauma would do. I retreated to the nearest lavatory, which happened to be Moaning Myrtle's fairly private bathroom. Wanting nothing more than to collapse in a stall and revel in my misery, I burst into the room without considering Myrtle's possible presence, and let the door smack loudly against the wall. I stumbled into the first stall I saw and sunk to the ground.

I don't know how long I sat there, my knees drawn up under my chin as my head leant against the wall. Perhaps I was there for hours, oblivious to the time flickering by. I repeated Draco's proposition over and over again until I could no longer stand it. '_Let's run away together!' _I wanted to. Merlin, I wanted to just leave and live together in secrecy, fall in love and feel protected. There had been a time when I had considered this. I had been 19, scared and infatuated with the boy I had spent seven years hating. He had been my secret romance, my risky adventure. Whether Tom knew about those passionate moments in the bookshelves, I didn't know, but I coveted the memories of intimacy and trust. 'We could leave tonight, leave now!' But I was right, we were adults now. I wasn't in love with Draco and I wasn't truly in love with Tom either. It didn't matter who I was in love with anyway, seeing I was married, with a son. End of story. Thus resolved, I calmed myself down and left the stall, only to come face to face with Moaning Myrtle.

"Oh you're back now, are you?" she said with a note of irritation. Rolling my eyes, I walked past her and settled myself in front of a mirror to do some glamour spells. She watched, drifting beside me. "Well, you can't just stride back in here and steal him." Laughing humorlessly, I commented,

"I have no intention of stealing Draco Malfoy from you." She frowned, confused, and said petulantly,

"I wasn't talking about him but he hasn't come to visit me either since he started teaching. And I'm not allowed to go into his rooms or anything." I magically straightened my hair, a charm I had mastered over my years as Jane Matthews. To be honest, I wasn't paying much attention to Myrtle, as she was a teenage ghost who wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. I had learned long ago not to take her seriously, as she enjoyed causing drama in an attempt to gain attention. She pouted and perched herself on the sink next to me, even though she couldn't actually sit. "I was talking about your old friend. Dark messy hair, tall, huge sword." She winked at me, giggling at her own dirty joke. No longer following, I cast her a sideways glance.

"I'm not sure I know who you're talking about." She smirked, pleased with herself, and blew a kiss at her reflection in the mirror. Instantly wary, I listened carefully to her response, knowing that a happy Myrtle was never a good sign. She simpered.

"Harry of course! He's been around for a while now, skulking around Gryffindor Tower with a sexy scowl. He has plenty of time to share my U-bend now, he does!" She dissolved into cackles, absolutely thrilled. I blinked. Then I blinked again.

"Harry's here?" I asked, my voice hoarse. She grinned, and I took that as a yes. "Here at… at Hogwarts?"

"Yup! Been ages since we've had a new ghost! I'm not the youngest anymore." But I didn't hear the rest of her girly chatter, as I promptly passed out onto the floor.

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I woke up in my bed in Tom's suite, a pair of red eyes staring coldly down at me. I coughed, immediately sitting up, and peered around the room. Tom was kneeling on the bed beside me, scowling unpleasantly, his wan in his hand. Sighing in irritating, he sneered,

"Do you find it entertaining to randomly pass out and force me to immediately bring you to safety?" A sharp twinge of pain in the back of my head followed my cough, and he said with slightly less ice, "You suffered a mild concussion, most likely from hitting your head on the floor." I winced, having gingerly touched a small bump on the back of my head.

"How did you find me?" I asked, envisioning nightmares of Myrtle flying into the Great Hall, screaming that Hermione Granger lay dead in the second floor girls' bathroom. The image wasn't particularly appealing, and I fought not to think of Roderick's horrified expression. Tom slid off the bed and walked to his armoire. He responded evasively as he opened its doors,

"I'm your husband, it's my duty to save you from whatever messes you get into." I recognized this as the dismissal of my question and frowned, watching him rifle thoughtlessly through his robes.

"Whatever you say, Tom," I said quietly, more to myself than to him. He shook his head humorlessly, apparently having heard anyway. I lay down and sank my aching head into a pillow, closing my eyes. Eventually Tom eased back down onto the bed next to me. He rested his palm on my stomach, studying my face with an unreadable expression. "You scared me today. What were you thinking, going out into the school alone like that?" Surprised by his concern and rare display of affection, I rolled over onto my side to face him. His face remained blank, but his eyes were anxious.

"I suppose I wasn't thinking," I mumbled, embarrassed. It wasn't as if I enjoyed depending on Tom. He reached over to tuck a loose curl of my hair behind my ear.

"You need to be more careful, you could have been seen." His warnings were getting tiring. Did he think I didn't already know that? I bit back an irritating retort. Being patronizing just went with being the Dark Lord. It was his right to be patronizing. Acid crept into my voice anyway.

"I made a mistake, I wasn't thinking clearly." He frowned, sensing there was more bothering me than he knew.

"What happened?" I sighed and closed my eyes, not wanting to see his face.

"Draco said some things to me that were hard to hear," I answered hesitantly, choosing my words carefully. What Draco had done was stupid, but I didn't want him to get in trouble with Tom, who was prone to overreact. "I got upset and stormed out." I cut myself off there, unsure if Tom already knew that Harry was still here, even if as a ghost. "I realized I didn't know how to get back here, so I went into Myrtle's bathroom, knowing I should go somewhere I wouldn't run the risk of being seen." Both of us could see the flaw in my logic, and he pointed it out.

"And you fainted… why exactly?" I still didn't allow myself to look at him, and said,

"I guess I was just overwhelmed." I wasn't surprised when he didn't believe me and didn't protest when I felt him entering my mind. He quickly found what he wanted, and I was forced to hear Draco plead with me, insist I was being used. Then me, crying in the bathroom, horrified as Myrtle discussed Harry. Tom didn't speak for a while after he let me go, only stroked his hand over my stomach as I stared up at the ceiling. I didn't trust my voice enough to talk. Finally, he said calmly,

"Potter's ghost has been limited to Gryffindor Tower. He is physically unable to leave, and he hopefully won't even find out you're in the castle. You will never cross paths with him." But I wasn't worried about seeing Harry. I was thinking about Roderick, standing in Gryffindor Tower, cornered by Harry. Harry would most likely be wearing his school robes, and Myrtle had mentioned Gryffindor's sword. If Roderick had seen him, had he run? Or had they talked? What must Roderick have said, have thought? Had Roderick learned I'd run from battle? Had Harry?

"Do you know if Roderick…" I couldn't bring myself to continue.

"I can't be sure, but I don't think so. Did he mention anything to you?" I shook my head. He _hmmed_ under his breath. After a few quiet moments, he commented,

"I could kill Malfoy for saying those things to you." I stiffened, hoping he didn't mean Draco's proposal of running away together. Having a relationship with him all those years ago had been stupid, but not forbidden. Surely that wasn't what he was protesting? I bit my lip, wondering what he would do. "You do know that I'm not using you, right?" If that was what offended him, I was surprised. Whether he was using me or not, it didn't really matter; I was here and I wasn't going anywhere. I was completely dependent on him.

"Then what am I here for?" I asked timidly. Because there was no reason for him to try so hard to protect me. I wasn't useful, I wasn't special, he didn't love me, and I kept causing problems. Was I just something to entertain him, to amuse him? To keep him busy?

"You are here because you are Roderick's mother and it is my responsibility to keep you safe." But the explanation he had clung to for years was no longer enough for me. I was safe enough at the fortress without him, there was no need for him to take me to Hogwarts and let me live with him. And regardless of what he had said, there was no need to _marry_ me. _He_ had said that to Pansy and had probably known that saying that made it necessary for him to do so. And then he had said it again to my friends! It was as if he wanted to be married to me, though I couldn't imagine why. But it wasn't because I was Roderick's mother. Having married parents might have made a difference for our son when he was younger, or it Tom wasn't the Dark Lord, but getting married _now_ didn't make much of a difference.

"I was never your responsibility," I said simply instead of refuting his statement. Tom sighed, moving his head from my stomach to my face. He gently held my chin in his palm and turned me to look at him. I couldn't pull my eyes away from his earnest expression.

"Hermione," he started, his voice soft and surprisingly loving. "I made you my responsibility. I wouldn't have it any other way." He smiled nervously, stroking his fingers across my cheek. The smile looked awkward, out of place, as if he wasn't sure how to smile at all. My heart began to race. "After all, life is so much more fun when I constantly have to save you from betrayed friends, jealous ex-lovers and fainting spells." I grimaced and he pulled his hand away to rest it on my neck.

"Please don't kill Draco," I said feebly, and he laughed in surprise.

"Since you asked nicely, I'll resist for the time being." But I wasn't amused. By letting Tom into my memory, I'd given him access to a treasure trove of secrets. He didn't need to know how or when Draco and I had conducted our affair. All he needed to know was that it had occurred, and he could punish Draco for any reason he wished. Adultery, treason, perjury. The only thing worse than Draco being punished and taken away from me would be to know it was my fault. I could never forgive myself.

"Thank you," I said quietly, placing his palm over the back of his hand, flattening his fingers against my cheek. He nodded, once again expressionless.

"One thing you said to Malfoy was correct, however," he added calmly, gently placing his index finger on my lower lip. Wary but curious, I didn't protest as he pulled my lip slowly down before letting go. "You are my wife, Hermione." He drew out my name, letting it play across his tongue. My eyes drifted closed.

-_OhgodTomplesaepleaseyesthere_-

"I am your husband." His voice wasn't a seductive purr, there was no flirtatious slant. He was seducing me with the undeniable truth, his tone deliberate as he stated the only facts he didn't have to manipulate. "I am going to protect you and our son." My fingers went slack over his hand, and the bed shifted as he drew closer, kneeling once again. He began to unbutton my blouse, each little ping sealing me into my new life. "And right now, as your husband, I am going to make love to you in our bed."

It didn't feel like love, no matter how much I wanted to believe it was. Especially not after, when I woke up alone to find the bed cold.


End file.
